The Englishwoman
by r4ven3
Summary: Following on from "The Plan". this story opens two years later, when Ruth is approaching the end of her time in the US. (A knowledge of my recent one-shot, "The Plan", is not necessary, although it will help set the scene.) Now 20 chapters in length.
1. Chapter 1

New York City – September 2013:

The woman standing near the doorway of the train was not remarkable in any way; she drew no unwanted stares from bored men, which was just the way she liked it. Aged somewhere in that vast grey area where youth gave way to middle age, she stared through the window as the train sped through the subway, her thoughts clearly elsewhere. She took the same train to Manhattan at the same time each week. From her small second floor apartment in Brooklyn, the subway spat her out on Lexington Avenue at 77th Street, just around the corner from where her employer had an office.

Gene Greczyn was not exactly her employer, but he had sufficient power over her for her to deliver her reports on time, and to not question him when he suggested a search or an in-depth analysis which had her wincing, hoping her discomfort did not show. On this day, Gene was distracted and irritable, and since Gene was a chain smoker, the air in his office was heavy with second hand smoke. The woman thought to suggest he look out for his health, but deep inside herself she didn't care; she hoped the smoking killed him, and the sooner the better. She coughed, and when he glared at her across his desk, she looked away, pretending to be gazing through the window at the sandwich shop across the street where, every Monday at the same time, she bought lunch.

Gene Greczyn flicked through the files she'd handed him, and nodded, before grabbing a fresh pile of files from inside a locked drawer. "Here's the next lot," he said, only looking into her eyes for a millisecond. Personal interaction was not part of Gene's skill set. He much preferred the phone. He'd ring her every Sunday night to check that she'd be in his office at eleven the next day. Each Sunday night the woman said yes, she'd be ready, and Gene always acknowledged her answer with a grunt. He was not an eloquent man.

"I don't know why we don't do this exchange electronically," the woman said wearily, perhaps for the twentieth time, as she pushed a lock of brown hair behind one ear.

"You know why," Gene always replied. The woman wondered whether she made the suggestion just to hear Gene's reason – a different one each week. "For all I know you could be in Florida, laying on a beach, working on a tan. You're here to work, and my job is to ensure that happens."

Two weeks ago he had suggested she could be in Canada for all he knew, enjoying the night life in Montreal. The week before that he'd worried she might be in San Francisco, lounging around in a commune in the mountains above the city. Only six weeks earlier his concern was that she might be in Alaska, training for the next Iditarod. Gene was a regular travel buff, but it was clear he hadn't travelled outside the city limits of New York since 1975. He never mentioned her home, which was where she dearly longed to be. He never mentioned London, and more than anything, she longed to know when she'd be free to return home. To mention this was to draw a heavy sigh from Gene, along with a, "when it's time for you to leave", spoken with practised weariness.

Gene Greczyn wasn't CIA, he was an agent, which meant that he did their dirty work for them. He was a go-between, a small cog in an enormous wheel, and the woman suspected that his regular bad mood had something to do with his continuing lowly status. Gene's uniform was a pair of jeans and a blue and white checked shirt. In cold weather he wore a brown leather jacket which appeared to have been purchased some time prior to 1980. His hair was dark brown, which he wore very short. The woman suspected he had it cut weekly, because it always appeared to be the same length. Either that, or he wore a wig. She'd never ventured close enough to him to find out. He stank of cigarettes and disappointment, and she was relieved each week when he dismissed her with a flick of his fingers. "Now get outta here," he'd say, sounding like the New Jersey gangster he'd rather have been, had he been born into a different place and time.

With the next week's files safely locked in her leather brief case, the woman crossed the road to the sandwich shop, called _Louie's_ for reasons no-one had been able to tell her. At the insistence of Gabe, a young man whose smile could illuminate a room, the woman always ordered pastrami on rye, made by Gabe, but without pickles, which the woman couldn't abide. "There's a spare table outside on the sidewalk," he said, lifting his chin in the direction of a lone table for two.

The woman took her time, wondering would it be in her best interests to linger, given Gene had handed her a thick wad of files, far more than usual. Would she be better off carrying her sandwich with her, returning home via the subway? She was standing just inside the door, her eyes unfocused, unsure of what to do, when she heard the raised voice of a woman from behind her.

"What is this?" the voice said. She heard Gabe speak quietly to the other woman, but it wasn't so much what was being said as it was the accent in which the other woman had spoken. "There's enough bacon in this to kill Elvis several times over," the upset woman said, "and I can't imagine how many pigs sacrificed their lives in the process."

"Lady," she heard Gabe say in placating tones, "our sandwiches are made with the best ingredients in New York."

"I don't care if you hand raised the pig yourself, that is far too much bacon for my small frame."

"Then let me make you another."

"Are you mad? I can't possibly eat this. My cardiologist would himself have a coronary. "

Which is when the quiet Englishwoman intervened. "It's all right," she said calmly from beside the other woman's elbow. "I know somewhere you might .. prefer." The quiet woman with the brief case smiled at Gabe, nodding when he removed the offending sandwich from on top of the counter. "This is another one for the homeless," Gabe said, his smile having faded.

"Oh, thank _God,_ " the complaining woman said, her English accent ringing through the interior of _Louie's_ , "someone who speaks my language."

The quiet woman drew the other woman aside, leaving room for customers who were calling out their orders. The quiet woman noted that the other Englishwoman was older than she was – perhaps in her mid to late fifties – but very well dressed, her makeup applied with care, her dark blond hair, pulled back from her face in a chignon. "Perhaps if we ..." said the quiet woman, glancing to the pavement just outside the door. The older woman understood, following her outside, where it was equally as noisy, with taxis ruling the street, fighting for supremacy with vans and trucks, motor cyclists and cyclists. For as far as she could see, Lexington Avenue was flanked by brownstones.

"I thought London was noisy, but this takes the cake," said the smart woman.

The quiet woman smiled, but all she said was, "follow me – I know a place I'm sure you'll like." To her surprise, the older Englishwoman followed without question or complaint.

The quiet woman led her companion down a narrow street off Lexington. "You're not about to mug me, are you?" the older woman said, a trace of nervous laughter in her voice.

"You're safe here," said the quiet woman, "and you'll be safe with me. In two years I've not once been mugged."

"Two _years,_ " the smart woman exclaimed. "You must be a saint."

Drawing level with a red brick building, a weather-worn painted sign advertising _Lipton Tea_ emblazoned along the brickwork, they turned down a narrow lane, which opened into a large conservatory, a glass encased room filled with light. The sign above the doorway read, _The English Conservatory._

"Oh, how wonderful," the older woman exclaimed, "I think I've stumbled upon a little slice of home. I'd never have known this was here."

Inside the glass enclosure were tables covered with white tablecloths made of linen, with upholstered, high backed chairs. Perhaps half the tables were occupied, and people drank from china cups with saucers. "It's a little over-priced. I hope you don't mind."

"Oh, tosh," said the older woman. "The very least I can do is to buy you tea and scones." Wrinkling her nose, she pointed to the sandwich which the quiet woman held in her hand. " _That,_ " she added, "you can take home with you. You do live in this godforsaken place, don't you?"

"I do."

Finding herself in her natural habitat, the older woman led them to a table for two, standing aside while she allowed the younger woman to choose her seat. Dotted around the perimeter were potted palms. "We could almost be in the Dorchester," she said, smiling at her companion, who had only ever been inside the Dorchester once in her life, and that had been when she was a child, and she'd been accompanied by her parents.

Suddenly remembering her manners, the quiet woman held out her hand and said shyly, "My name is Alison," she said, "Alison Craig."

"Pleased to meet you, Alison. My name is Jane. Jane Middleton. I am so pleased to have been rescued by a decent human being."

A waitress in black skirt and white shirt hovered nearby, and Alison sat back in her chair while her companion ordered a pot of English Breakfast for two, with scones, jam and cream. "I hope you're not on some diet or other," Jane said, once the waitress had left with their order. "I'm sure that scones are better for you than that _thing_ you bought at the sandwich shop."

Alison smiled, opening her briefcase to slide the sandwich into the front pocket, along with her wallet and some pens. Her mobile phone occupied a slim pocket all of its own. She was rather curious about why this woman had visited _Louie's_ for lunch, when her tastes were clearly more bland, more English, but she was happy to live without knowing the reason.

"So tell me how you, a polite Englishwoman, came to be living in this corner of hell."

Alison smiled. She was unused to small talk, and only engaged in it when she had to, and this seemed to be one of those times. She knew nothing about Jane Middleton, other than she was English, and clearly minted. She was also conscious that the woman may have been a plant, so she had to mind what she said. "I'm working here. I'm on a two year contract, which is almost up. I'm hoping I can return to London next month."

"Surely you can do what you like once your contract is up. You can kick up your heels and enjoy a holiday. What is it you do?"

Ah, the question which required the most creative, but believable answer. She had found that the truth worked best. "I'm a translator. I'm an expert in Arabic and also several of the Chinese dialects."

"My goodness. You must be clever."

"Not really," Alison replied in her quiet way. "I'm just good with languages. I always have been." And not terribly good with people, but she'd not say that aloud. People had always wanted more from her than she had to give, and of course, translating was not her only skill which was being milked by the CIA, but translating satisfied most people, being something understood by most. Were she to begin yammering on about analysing information from the Middle East and China, then this woman would most likely be suspicious of her. She had found that a modest approach worked best. "And what is it you do, Jane?"

Jane threw her head back and laughed, and although her laugh was somewhat controlled, it was surprisingly loud, causing other customers to glance their way. "I'm a lady of leisure," she replied after a time. "I haven't had to work since I moved in with my second husband."

" _Second_ husband?"

"Second of three."

"Goodness, I haven't even managed one marriage."

"I find that hard to believe, Alison. You're very pretty, but I suspect that you don't believe it. You must have loved someone sometime … surely. I can't believe you haven't been asked."

Oh, God. Why had she felt the need to rescue this woman? "I .. yes, I've been asked."

"I sense a juicy story there somewhere." Jane was leaning forward, her eyes glowing. While Alison quite liked this odd woman, she also knew she must be wary and forever circumspect. Both having been English born was not an adequate basis for friendship. The words, `trust no-one' were never more true than at that moment.

"It's a story, yes, but not so much juicy as sad. I once lived with a man who wanted to marry me, and I kept procrastinating over my decision, and then he died."

"So we've both lost someone," Jane murmured distractedly. "My second husband died suddenly after only eighteen months of marriage."

"I'm sorry .. about that."

"And then I met Tony, but … was it only the one man who wanted to marry you? Surely there were _oodles_ of men trying to break down your door."

Alison stifled a smile. This woman was something; she could talk about the death of husband #2 in the same breath as creating an impossible word picture of Alison's flat being besieged by suitors. "There was .. someone else who asked, but I turned him down."

"And wished you hadn't."

"Pardon me?"

"You wished you hadn't .. turned down the second man. I can read that particular detail in your face. I'm good at that – reading faces. My husband says I'm psychic, but there's no psychic ability required; just a particular way of watching and listening."

Alison quickly broke eye contact, and then their tea and scones were served, and so she breathed easily once more. "Why do women, when we get together, always gravitate towards talking about men?"

"Because we're so much stronger and wiser than they are, but despite that imbalance, we've been conditioned to believe we need them."

Alison had been adding milk and sugar to her tea, and so pretended to not have heard Jane's words, but she'd heard them all right. It was clear to Alison that the other woman had saddled herself with three rather ordinary men. Either that, or she simply had questionable taste in men. Had she told herself she needed men? Alison didn't think so. It's just that one man in particular had managed to burrow under her skin, and two years after having last seen him, he was still there.

"I rather like New York," she said at last, having broken one scone in halves and piled on the jam and clotted cream.

"Now you've changed the subject," Jane retorted.

"I don't know what to say. Having never been married, I've always believed that perhaps marriage just wasn't for me."

"Well .. all I can say is I admire your independence. I wish I felt able to look after myself as well as you do."

 _But I don't always look after myself well_ , Alison thought, _and there are days when I don't want to … especially since leaving England._ She had nothing to say to Jane about that. Perceptions could be so deceiving.

While they ate their scones, conversation took a back seat, as Jane commented on the jam – strawberry conserve, imported from England – and the scones – exactly like her own mother's recipe. "Were she not already dead, I'd swear they had her in the kitchen, rustling up another batch."

Alison had finished her scone, and was hoping there would be a long enough lull in conversation for her to be able to make her excuses and leave without offending this rather kind woman. Alison suspected Jane Middleton was deeply lonely, and having met another English person, and one who was prepared to speak with her, as well as listen, Jane was not about to allow her to leave without a full discussion about marriage and husbands, a subject not terribly close to Alison's heart. While Jane was picking at the last half of her scone there was a long period during which neither woman spoke, and Alison was about to announce her intention to leave when her companion began all over again, and what she revealed left Alison breathless … twice.

"My last two husbands were in business. Well .. Tony still is. He's three years younger than I am, so not yet ready for retirement. And -"

"Tony .. you mean, you're married to Anthony Middleton."

"Yes, I am. Why?"

" _Sir_ Anthony Middleton?"

"It's just a title. I don't even know for sure what he did to get it, but it certainly opens some doors."

"I .. you never said."

"Well, Alison, to me he's just Tony, a rather sweet man who forgets things like birthdays and anniversaries because his head is filled with rather large numbers."

"He's in line for a Tory party nomination."

"Not if I have my way. Who in their right mind would want to be married to a politician?" Then, if Alison had not been perplexed enough, her next statement had her head spinning. "Two of my three husbands are Knights of the Realm. Can you believe that? Why is it about toffs that I find attractive?"

"Two? Who is the other one?"

"It's hardly likely you'd know him, and he was only knighted a few years back, long after we divorced. His name is Harry Pearce." Alison stared across the table at Jane, almost unable to breathe. "See? I told you you wouldn't have heard of him. He worked for Mi5. The man was a spy."

* * *

 _ **A/N: Now that you know for sure the identity of Jane Middleton, I need to say that this story is not in any way a follow-on from the earlier stories I wrote featuring Jane. While there may be similarities between the two characters, I have toned down this Jane just a teensy bit.**_


	2. Chapter 2

_**A/N : A couple of reviewers mentioned the likelihood or otherwise of Jane's indiscretion at the end of Chapter 1. I need to say firstly that without it, there is no story, and secondly, that characters are not perfect, and frequently do not act as (we believe) they should. On such anomalies, the world turns.**_

 _ **Some M-ish activity in this chapter.**_

* * *

Alison had made her excuses, citing the time, and her need to be at home working. It was in part a truthful statement, but motivated more by her discomfort on hearing Jane's bombshell than any need she had to be working. It hadn't been until she was in her flat with the door double-locked behind her that she felt able to breathe normally once more.

What were the chances of that _,_ she thought, as she took the files given her by Gene, and locked all but the covering folder in the safe in her bedroom, behind the double bed in which she had slept every night for almost two years. What were the odds, mathematically speaking, of the very woman she had rescued from her favourite sandwich shop on Lexington being the ex-wife of the last man she had slept with, and her boss for more years than she could calculate? What were the chances that, of the four million or so people who populated Manhattan during the working day, the very person she had befriended, of all the other possibilities milling around her on that particular day, would be Harry's ex-wife?

She had planned to begin working immediately she arrived home, to open the covering folder to learn about her tasks for the next week, and hopefully to make a start on those tasks. She couldn't possibly concentrate on work. Jane had prattled on about all her husbands, although Alison's interest had chiefly been in her first husband, whom Jane only mentioned again once when she announced that he was the father (mostly absent) of her two adult children. Alison made herself a pot of tea, and sat at her tiny table just outside her kitchen nook. She was still in shock, and needed time to settle before she began working. For the time it took her to drink the tea – around an hour – she once more allowed herself to become Ruth, and – rather dangerously – took herself back to her last encounter with Harry Pearce.

* * *

 _She knew it was to be her last night in London prior to being taken to the US by representatives of the CIA. Only two days earlier she had posed her idea to her employer, William Towers, who had blustered and complained, citing his need of her, and that she had barely begun her job, and already was necessary to his grand plan for security._

" _You'd do this to save Harry's backside?" he'd said to her on more than one occasion._

" _Of course," she'd replied, "and nothing you or he can say will change my mind on the matter."_

 _When she had shared her plan with Harry, he had become angry, and then contrite, perhaps even embarrassed, but nothing he said could have her changing her mind. "It's like this, Harry," she said, as though speaking to a toddler, "if you allow them to take you, we'll never see one another again. If I go, I'll be back in two years. Two years, or life – what's it to be?"_

 _And that was that._

 _While at home at the end of her last day working for Towers, she contemplated the wisdom of her actions. Over and again she had taken her analyst's mind into the dilemma she and Harry faced, burrowing through the situation from every available angle, and however she viewed it, she could find no better solution. She had offered her services for two years in return for Harry continuing his position as section head of counter-terrorism in Mi5. That her offer had been accepted was still surprising to her. If Harry could continue to work unimpeded, then her sacrifice will have been worth it._

 _She'd eaten dinner, and tidied, washing and drying her few dishes, before stacking them away on the shelves in the cupboard. What would happen to them and her flat while she was gone was not something to which she'd given much thought. When she heard the doorbell it was almost ten o'clock, and she'd been about to head to bed for an early night. Even before she answered the door, she knew who it was. Nothing had been said, but she knew Harry would visit her one last time before she left. He'd not be able to stay away, and whilst a visit from him would make the wrench of her leaving so much more painful, she needed to see him almost as much as he needed to see her._

 _Standing untidily on her porch, he looked terrible, his coat and jacket both unbuttoned, his tie gone, and the top few buttons of his shirt undone. She stood aside to let him in, and was surprised there was no whiff of alcohol as he walked past her. He appeared weary and careworn, and terribly sad._

" _I wonder could I bother you for a glass of wine," he said, having removed his coat and hung it on a hook. His was a dishevelled figure, lost and almost alone in the front hallway of her flat._

" _I'm not sure that's a good idea," she said, but she relented when she caught the pleading in his eyes. Whatever he had come to say to her clearly required the fortification only alcohol could provide._

 _They sat at her kitchen table, each with a glass of light red on the table in front of them. Ruth didn't want to go to bed even mildly tipsy, so she sipped her wine slowly. For a long time nothing was said. Watching Harry, she could clearly read his discomfort, but had little idea where to begin._

" _What if I start?" she said, and the weight of gratitude in his eyes told her that this was the right approach. "I need you to know that I don't want to be going tomorrow. If I thought there to be any alternative, then I would employ that, but this is the best of a very poor set of options."_

 _Harry nodded slightly, then glanced down, rubbing his thumb and forefinger up and down the stem of his wine glass. "I came here with the intention of telling you that I plan to hand myself in first thing tomorrow morning," he said quietly. "Now I'm here .. I know that's ..." His voice faded as he ran out of words._

" _.. a really bad idea. A couple of years in Guantanamo could kill you, Harry, or at the very least disable you for the remainder of your life." When he didn't reply, and still hadn't met her eyes, she knew that at least he agreed with what she'd said. "I would give anything and everything for this to be different," she added quietly._

 _Harry suddenly rose from his chair and moved to stand at the sink, staring through the window at the black night outside. Ruth very quietly followed him, standing behind him, perhaps preparing to catch him as he fell. "What kind of man," he said at last, "allows the woman he loves to stand in his stead, to take the punishment which he alone has earned?"_

 _She had ignored his declaration of love; after all, it was hardly news. She had known for years that Harry loved her. "We're part of a team, Harry," she'd said. "This is what team members do for one another."_

 _Harry turned to face her, leaning his hips against the sink while either side of him his hands gripped the edge of the sink, his knuckles whitening as his grip tightened. His eyes sought hers. "Would you be doing the same were it Dimitri?"_

 _Ruth sighed and looked away. She longed to touch him, but she'd leave that for him to initiate. At that moment Harry was clearly feeling powerless. "Of course not," she said, "because the CIA wouldn't have the same interest in Dimitri .. as they have in you .. or me."_

" _Have you ever wondered, Ruth, whether all along they planned for this outcome? After all, imprisonment in a foreign land is harsh punishment for something I didn't even do." Ruth sighed as she broke eye contact. She had wondered the very same thing, which made her decision more predictable than inspired. When she looked up he was watching her closely. "I expected you to say that I shouldn't have kidnapped Coaver in the first place."_

" _What's done is done," she said. "I know you, Harry. You're not a criminal, but you should have given Jim Coaver a wide berth."_

 _Ruth was finding it difficult to not touch him. If this was to be their last contact for two years, why were they standing apart from one another? She read the pain in his eyes … as well as the longing. The kind thing would be to reach out and touch him … gently and lovingly. "I'm wondering whether you see me as a coward, Ruth."_

 _He still hadn't touched her, so she reached out with her hand and rested her palm against his chest, pressing lightly against the material of his shirt to feel his beating heart beneath her fingers. For Ruth it was a bold move. They were a couple who were not exactly a couple, but who loved one another fiercely, with a loyalty which bordered on the foolish. Their love, while mostly unspoken, had endured almost a decade of loss and pain and struggle, hope, and loss of hope. They were still here, about to be parted once more. His body was warm beneath her hand, his heartbeat reminding her that while she was away, his life would continue as usual. Unable to maintain eye contact, she stared at one of his shirt buttons, curious about how he would react were she to begin opening the remaining buttons. "You are having to live with several uncomfortable truths, Harry." Her eyes flicked up to his and then down again. "One is that you have been rescued – twice – by a woman you claim to love, and the other is that you can do nothing about this .. not if you wish to give me the possibility of a normal life after this is all over … after my sentence is done."_

 _Hearing Harry swallow, she again looked up at him, but this time she held his eyes. "That is an awful truth for me to face, and I'm here tonight because ..." and then his voice faded, and he took another small step closer, and then reached out and gently drew her to him. Ruth nestled against him, sighing as she pressed her face into his neck._

" _Why are you here tonight?" she asked. She felt one of his hands circling her back hypnotically, warming her from the outside in. She longed to kiss his skin, but it was still too soon for such familiarity._

" _Because I couldn't stay away," he murmured. "Because I wanted to see you one last time. Because I need to beg your forgiveness."_

 _Ruth pulled her face away and looked up at him, and his hand on her back stilled. "There's nothing to forgive. This is what we do." His face spoke of a sadness so deep that it bordered on grief. "Would you like to stay the night .. with me?"_

 _Harry sighed heavily, so heavily that for a moment she was afraid she had misread him. "Yes," he said, "although I know I haven't the right to expect … anything."_

" _Why not? We … care deeply for one another, and we're about to be parted. We haven't the luxury of time in which to navigate our combined guilt and remorse."_

" _But you have no reason for guilt."_

" _I have every reason," and she grasped his hand and turned to lead him from the kitchen and down the corridor to her bedroom, where just inside the doorway they kicked off their shoes, and by unspoken agreement, climbed onto the bed to lay side by side, their hands still linked._

" _I'm scared about you leaving," Harry said at last, surprising her with his honesty._

" _Me too," she said, "but we've been parted before, and we survived."_

" _I'd like us to do more than survive_ _._ _"_

 _There was little else to say, so Harry turned and took her in his arms, kissing her carefully at first, taking his time to taste her skin, while he ran his hands down her back and to her buttocks, pulling her against him._

 _Very slowly they undressed one another, their hands peeling away the layers of clothing which represented their professional roles. Once they were each down to their underpants, they climbed under the duvet, huddling close to keep warm. Harry wound his arms around her, pulling her close, where she nestled her head in the hollow between his shoulder and his jaw, while with the fingertips of one hand she caressed his back with feather-like strokes, feeling his skin quiver under her touch._

 _For a moment she suspected he may have fallen asleep, after all, when he'd arrived at her door he'd been exhausted. And how easily does he achieve arousal? She knew next to nothing about Harry's intimate life – what he liked, what he didn't like, what kind of lover he was. They'd not discussed any of the details of what they were about to do. She already knew that she loved his body, and she especially loved his broad back, his skin surprisingly smooth beneath the pads of her fingers._

 _She fluttered her fingers down his back to the waistband of his underwear, sliding her fingers beneath the barrier of the elastic, until she stroked the curve of his buttocks. Harry's response, perhaps unconscious, was to push himself against her, and with that small movement of his hips she knew that Harry had no trouble at all with arousal. She was suddenly pleased and relieved that she had dragged him to her bedroom. She was unable to wait two years for this; she wanted it now. She smiled to herself, and then looked up to see him watching her, a small frown drawing his eyebrows together._

" _Penny for them," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper._

 _She shook her head and smiled. "Only a penny? I would have expected the opening bid to be at least a pound." Harry reached down to kiss her, while with one hand he stroked her side, passing his thumb ever so lightly across her nipple. Ruth stifled a moan, but couldn't prevent the arching of her back, so that her breasts pressed against his chest. He hummed against her mouth, but he said nothing more._

 _She was beginning to learn that Harry was not a talker in bed. In the bedroom his eloquence was expressed by his lips, his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his chest and belly, and his strong arms. They were all instruments of love, and they all told her that he cared for her, adored her, and would do anything for her. While he couldn't make the CIA withdraw their demands that they extract their pound of flesh for the death of Jim Coaver, he could still create beautiful music as his hands stroked her body, his mouth tasted her skin, and with his tongue he drew a trail from the hollow of her throat to the tender skin of her inner thighs. He took his time; there was no hurry. For a moment Ruth wondered did he intend the love making to last until morning. (She would have liked that, but he had work the next day.) When at last they joined, Ruth smiled into his eyes, momentarily forgetting that they were only hours from being parted._

* * *

 _When Ruth awoke she found herself alone in bed. His clothes were gone. He had made love to her and then left without saying goodbye. What kind of man does that? Then she noticed his shoes, still where he'd kicked them off the night before, forming an untidy tableau with her own just inside the doorway. He'd hardly leave without his shoes. She hunkered down under the duvet once more, and closed her eyes. When she heard movement from the doorway she looked up to see Harry, dressed in the clothes he'd arrived in the night before, a mug in each hand. "Coffee?" he said with a smile, and then carefully placed the mugs of coffee on the bedside table before he sat on the bed, and leaned across to place a kiss on Ruth's lips._

 _Ruth lifted her hand to cup Harry's cheek. "You spoil me," she murmured._

" _You deserve it. I'll not be able to do this again for two years."_

 _There it was. He'd said it. This was their reality. Their sleeping together had not changed the course of history after all. Harry still had to work at Thames House, while she was on her way to another two year exile. She flopped back against the pillow, her eyes never leaving his. She felt her eyes fill, and so she turned over in an attempt to hide her momentary weakness from him. Too late, he had seen her tears. She felt him lean over her, his arm around her, his face resting against her cheek._

" _Let it out, Ruth," he said. "I intend crying while I'm home in my shower. That's where I generally let go."_

 _She turned around, their faces so close. "I don't believe you."_

" _It's true." He leaned away from her, but he still held her. "I need to say something before I leave, and I must leave soon. I have to go home to shower and change." He waited until he had her complete attention. "If anything happens .. anything where you feel unsafe .. you can call me on this number." He took a yellow post-it note from the top pocket of his jacket, and placed it on the bedside table, beneath her phone. "It's the number of a safe phone I use for .. situations like this. I suggest that when you're settled in the US you get yourself an untraceable phone. I know we can't have regular contact, but you need to know that if you get into difficulty, I don't want you trying to sort it out on your own."_

 _Ruth nodded. She had no idea what kind of situation would warrant contact with Harry, but she filed away his information, knowing she would slip the note into her bag, along with her wallet and the passport for her legend._

 _Neither drank the coffee he made. His was a gesture which Ruth noticed, but she was unable to sit up in bed sipping coffee with him, knowing that within minutes he was to leave._

" _I need to go, Ruth," he said after they had been lying on the bed, his arm around her, their faces close. "I don't want to, but if I stay any longer, I won't have the will to leave at all."_

 _She sat up in bed and nodded, her eyes as sad as his. She wanted to tell him she loved him, but that would be the cruellest farewell of all. It would be best to save that for their reunion. "I'll see you to the door," she said, her words falling from her automatically._

" _No," he said sharply, standing, "stay here. I don't want our parting to be difficult for either of us."_

 _Ruth wanted to snap at him, to tell him to stop telling her what to do. `You're no longer my boss,' was almost spoken, but she managed to hold back the words. Harry leaned towards her, and she reached up to meet him as he kissed her, and then put his arms around her once last time. "I'll miss you," she said._

" _And I'll miss you," he replied, "every moment of every day," and then he kissed her again quickly, turned and left._

 _When Ruth heard the click of the front door as it closed, she fell back against her pillow, pressed her face into it, and allowed the tears to fall freely._

* * *

She and Harry had agreed that it would be safest for them both were they to have no contact at all – direct or indirect – for the time Ruth was away. They'd done it before, and so they could do it again, and as unpleasant as that prospect had been, in the twenty-three months they had been apart, they had stuck to it. In light of what she suspected about Tony Middleton, Ruth thought it about time she reached out to Harry. She took her empty tea pot and her cup into the kitchen nook and rinsed them under the tap, and then she returned to her bedroom, moved her bed aside, and once more accessed the small safe in the wall. Beneath the pile of work which Gene had handed her was her prepaid phone, the one she kept for emergencies, the one on which she could safely call Harry. She took the phone and its charger from the safe, locked the safe, and plugged in the charger to the power point behind her night stand.

Not only had she spent a pleasant hour with Harry's ex-wife, Ruth had learned that this woman was now married to a man whose clandestine activities she had been investigating only the week before. It appeared that Sir Anthony Middleton was on the surface a benevolent business man, supporting multiple charities with the profits from his business enterprises, most of which involved manufacturing components for hand held power tools and garden equipment, which were assembled in factories in Germany and Italy. Beneath the veneer of respectability, however, it was apparent that Tony Middleton was involved in far murkier dealings. How murky were these dealings was only something Ruth could discover by venturing down the rabbit hole of Middleton's many business interests.

And why would she have been given the analysis of the activities of a man who was now married to the ex-wife of Harry Pearce? Given that the relevant people in the CIA would by now know that she and Harry had been close, her having run into Jane Middleton earlier that day appeared to be anything but a coincidence. Ruth didn't believe in coincidences. The world she inhabited needed to be ordered, and the only explanation she could find for her and Jane being in the same shop on Lexington Avenue on the same day, and at the same time was that it had been planned that way. She felt a sick churning in the pit of her belly. For how long had this been planned, if in fact it had been planned?


	3. Chapter 3

Ruth checked the time. The phone could do with a few more minutes of charging. She sat on her bed and looked around the room. The small bedroom was where she slept and kept her few personal possessions. To her knowledge her flat had not been broken into, and after close investigation, there were no signs that her home was being electronically surveilled. After spending her first two weeks in the US in a small hotel room in Brooklyn, she had chosen the flat herself, only divulging her address after she'd been residing there a month. Throughout her stay she had kept to herself, making no close acquaintances, and she had at all times watched for a tail. Throughout the two years she had lived in New York, there had been no signs that she was being followed … but to be on the safe side she would call Harry from the laundry room in the basement.

 _Harry._ She spoke his name aloud, just to hear how it sounded. The feel of it in her mouth, the sound of the `y' at the end as it faded away, leaving her feeling empty, as if he'd just left the room.

She'd missed him, of course, but she'd expected that. It had been a very long two years, during which she'd buried herself in work in order to stave off loneliness. At the one year mark she had begun to feel a little happier, knowing that the worst of her time away was behind her. With each month that had passed she was a month closer to seeing Harry again. Had he missed her? She was sure he had, and that thought stirred the small kernel of guilt she carried deep within her, the guilt surrounding her suspicion that she was very bad for Harry. Every time they drew closer, something awful happened to one of them, or in this case, both of them. She wasn't about to wallow in that guilt. Living and working alone for almost two years had taught her that life was only as good as you made it, and when she returned to London, Ruth had committed herself to opening her heart and her arms to Harry. The time for running from him, sacrificing her life for him, needed to be behind her. Grabbing her phone and the charger, she quickly left the flat and hurried down three flights of stairs to the basement.

Being early afternoon, there was no-one else in the laundry. Had she been thinking ahead, she would have brought a few things – towels perhaps – to be washed, but then the noise of the washing machine might have drowned out her voice, so that Harry wouldn't be able to hear her. She plugged the charger into a power point behind the plastic chair in the corner of the room, and quickly pressed the only number she had entered into the contacts. It rang three .. four … five … seven times before it was answered, by which time her heart was beating so rapidly that it was as though her ribs vibrated in time to its beat.

"Yes?" Harry's voice sounded acidic. She had interrupted him. Perhaps he was in the middle of a meeting, although being after seven in the evening in London, he'd still be at work, although unlikely to be in a meeting.

"Harry, it's me. Can we talk?"

She heard him breathe out. It was more than a breath, and less than a sigh. It was as though he was in the room with her, and she felt a deep warmth suffuse her belly. "Are you all right?" His voice was gentle, quiet, the voice he reserved just for her. For one mad moment she wondered had Harry spoken to Jane in that voice – soft, gentle, and heavy with promise. He had once loved her, so it's likely he had.

"I'm fine, or as fine as I can be, given the circumstances. Are you able to talk?"

He hesitated, then covered the phone while he spoke to someone in the room with him. When he came back on the phone his tone was less personal, more businesslike. "I have something to finish up here, and then I'll call you back," and he ended the call immediately. She hadn't expected him to be sitting in his office, waiting for her to call, but he'd not told her how long she'd have to wait for his call.

So she sat on the plastic chair in the laundry in the basement of her building in Brooklyn, while she waited for Harry, who was in London, to call her back. Looking around the room with a critical eye, she wondered whose idea it had been to paint the walls a tan colour; it was hardly an apt colour for a laundry room, and the peeling paint on the wall above the row of washers told her that in all likelihood, no-one cared. She wished she'd brought her coat. She thought of turning on one of the driers to warm the room, but they were rather noisy. As it was, she was fortunate to have found the room empty. After around ten minutes her phone rang.

"I was afraid you wouldn't call back," she babbled, close to tears with relief. Hearing his voice had activated some primal need in her, the one which responded to his touch and the timbre of his voice. She was aware of a deep well of emotion which threatened to overwhelm her, something she'd kept in check since leaving London.

"Of course I'd call you back. I just had to ensure that Dimitri wasn't about to take on something beyond his capabilities. He's leading an operation which begins at five in the morning. Are you well, Ruth. Are you happy?"

 _Happy_? How could she possibly be happy? "I'm well, and content, but happiness is something of a stretch. I have a tale to tell you, and I'm in need of your advice on the matter."

Harry slipped immediately into professional mode, his gentle voice replaced by his business-as-usual voice. "Fire away."

"Are you alone?"

"I'm in my office, the door locked and the blinds drawn. If anyone knocks I'm not here."

Ruth found herself smiling at the image of Harry locking himself inside his office to speak to her. "I have a strange tale to tell you," she said, "and I need your .. wise counsel."

"But Ruth," he said, his voice gentle once more, "you have always been _my_ wise counsel."

"I think, once I tell you what I've discovered, you will perhaps have a … wider perspective of the issue than I have at present."

"So you're not in any danger," he stated.

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"And this .. issue .. is not personal."

"Not to me. It affects the work I do, but it .. may be personal to you."

"It will only be personal to me if either you or my children are affected."

"It's quite possible your children may be affected .. but only by association."

"I'm intrigued. Go on."

"Today I was in Manhattan. I travel there each Monday to exchange work done last week for next week's files. After that I go to the same sandwich shop to buy my lunch. Today, as I was about to leave the shop, I overheard an Englishwoman speaking, and … the short story is that the woman is your ex-wife, and -"

"You met Jane? Did she approach you?"

"No. I approached her. She was complaining about the bacon sandwich, so I took her to an English tea room, and we .. talked. I didn't know who she was. To me, she was just a rather wealthy woman from London who didn't like American food."

"Who does?"

"I don't mind it. She told me she was married to Sir Anthony Middleton, and then the conversation turned to you. That .. surprised me, of course. Today, Harry, I befriended your ex-wife."

Ruth waited while Harry took it all in. "I find that … extraordinary, if not a little hard to believe." he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"I quite .. liked her."

"Most people do, it seems. She's more sociable than me. So .. what's the problem?"

"Long story short is that only last week I came across Tony Middleton's name in relation to a bank account from which quite large sums of money have been transferred to the accounts of groups of insurgents in Afghanistan, Iraq, and possibly also Pakistan. That alone may not be the concern of … Mi5… until I also discovered that some money has found its way to a specific account in the UK."

"You're talking about domestic terrorism, aren't you?"

"Yes. The account in the UK is called simply Eris Works. It appears to fund several small groups whose job is to create -"

"- chaos," Harry breathed.

"Yes. The groups receiving funding all appear to have a similar agenda - to create instability on the ground and in the community. The source account is named Telford Holdings. Middleton was born in Telford, so it appears at first glance that he is responsible for it, although he is not the contact named on the account."

"And who is the named contact?"

"Jeffrey Jenner."

"You've lost me, Ruth."

"He worked for Stihl in Stuttgart, Germany, before he became Middleton's executive sales manager to Europe, US and Canada. On paper, he's the man on the ground responsible for the sales of electrical components for chainsaws and hedge trimmers to all three markets, but … I've uncovered video of him visiting Afghani insurgents on the Pakistan border. He's also been seen meeting with members of Shabak when they visited London, and he's quite ... friendly with some of the more extreme members of Mossad."

"Do you have evidence that Middleton is aware of this?"

"Not directly, no, but he'd have to be … wouldn't he?" When Harry didn't answer, the penny dropped for Ruth. "You know about this, don't you?"

"Some, yes. Evidence is still being gathered, although no-one has yet mentioned Jeffrey Jenner. There is also a more hands-on contact by the name of Jurgen Brecht, and we've had surveillance on him for several weeks. It's possible that Jenner is the one handling him. I've had a couple of agents investigating this domestically for two or three months now. If Middleton knows, he's keeping his distance."

"Harry, I know that I can't do much other than report my findings, but I'm worried about Jane, and if her husband is implicated, then that may … affect you."

Harry sighed into the phone. Ruth could picture him, his head resting on his hand, while with his fingers he rubbed the skin of his forehead. "I'm aware of that, but it can't stop my continuing to investigate. It's possible Jenner has a sideline business and is acting without Middleton's knowledge. It's possible Jenner is siphoning funds from the company accounts."

"How likely is that?"

"Hopefully not likely at all, but it depends on how close Middleton is to the day to day running of his business. His chief accountant is Grant Cutler. I heard he was head-hunted from one of the aero companies. He'd be the one with his finger on the day to day dealings."

"I imagine that Jane has no knowledge of any of this," Ruth mused.

"Jane had almost no interest in what I did, so it's probable that Middleton is keeping her in the dark about his business activities. She wouldn't want to be informed of any details of his business. She finds business ... boring."

"My question to you is do I speak to her about this, or should I pretend to know nothing?"

Again Harry sighed. "You have no idea how much I have missed you," he said, his voice low and raspy.

For a long moment Ruth was flummoxed. Poor Harry. He must have been having a difficult time of late. He'd not normally allow himself to so readily slip into the personal, not unless he was feeling tired and under pressure. "I do have some idea, you know," she said.

"I know. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

"About Jane, Harry. Your connection to this may even compromise you."

"Not when I have no contact with her. Towers and I have already discussed this, and he agrees with me ... for now." Ruth waited while Harry took his time before continuing. "Perhaps .. if you're meeting her again -"

"She wants to meet me this Wednesday. She and her husband fly back to London on Thursday evening."

"Then meet her, but since you're using a legend, she won't know who you are. You know how to play it, Ruth." Ruth did, of course, but she wasn't about to share with him what it was she planned for when next she spoke to Jane. His disapproval would be a given. Then Harry's voice lowered, taking on an intimate tone. "I need you to know that not only am I counting the days until you return, but so is Towers. We're both missing you, but clearly for different reasons. I'm having to rely on a regular stream of analysts from GCHQ, and I suspect them all of reporting back to headquarters."

Ruth inwardly shuddered. This was paranoid Harry. She was familiar with that Harry. "Do you know when I'm to return to London?"

"You don't know?"

"Every time I ask my .. agent, he says I'll find out when I need to. I suspect he has no idea."

"October 16th."

"You're sure about that?"

"The date?"

"Yes, because I haven't heard a thing. How long have you known?"

"Around a week. I'll speak to our representative in Washington. Hopefully they'll send you a confirmation email. I'll get onto that tomorrow morning."

"Thank you. That's only a little over three weeks away."

"Yes. It is."

"Where will I live?"

"I can look for something for you if you like. A flat, and close to my house."

"You're presuming a lot, Mr Pearce."

"I am, but if I don't, I'm afraid you'll slip through my fingers."

This time it was Ruth who sighed. She was relieved that Harry hadn't suggested she move in with him. It was too soon for that, and she had been living alone, speaking to very few people for almost two years, and upon returning home she'd need to live alone for a while, just until she found her London feet once more. "Can I ring you again some time? There may be times when I need to ring you just to hear your voice," she said, knowing what his answer would be.

"You know you can."

"I'll call you next week."

"Call me before that. Call me after you speak with Jane. Call me Wednesday evening."

"I will. I .. goodbye, Harry. It's been ..."

"It's been wonderful speaking with you. I'll wait for your call."

"I'll call you at night your time."

"Ring me at around four o'clock your time. By then I'll be home, but not yet in bed."

At the mention of the word, bed, they both wandered back in time in their imaginations to the one time they'd shared a bed. They each privately hoped that would happen again, and soon. "I will. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, Ruth," and Harry ended the call.

Ruth sat back on the chair and held the phone against her stomach. As nervous as she'd been about calling him, she was glad she had.

* * *

Harry closed his phone and slipped it into the pocket of his jacket, where he'd carried it every day for the past twenty-three months. Part of his morning dressing routine had been to check that the phone was charged and that it was in his pocket. He never went anywhere without it. He sat at his desk, his hands clasped on the desk in front of him. Speaking with her after such a long time of no contact had been a joy, lifting him from the despondency which so often had weighed him down. He had (not so) patiently waited for Ruth to ring him on his safe phone, and this evening she had. He'd been irritated when the phone had rung, believing it to be a wrong number. He'd not be able to concentrate on the pile of reports on his desk. They would have to wait until morning. _I love Ruth,_ he said aloud, _and Ruth loves me._

He had missed her quick mind and her unique analysis. He had missed having her to keep him on track, to remind him of what was important, and to reprimand him when he was about to step over some invisible line. He had missed seeing her each day, although while she'd worked for Towers, he'd seen her less often than daily. He had missed his heart skipping a beat whenever she smiled at him, or their hands touched; he'd looked forward to those precious moments when she'd place her hand on his. He had missed her in his bed, although perhaps the one night they'd spent together was not yet a habit to be missed. He hoped that soon after her return he would again discover how soft her lips were when he kissed her, or how the perfect curve of her breast fitted so snugly beneath his hand, or how tender was the skin of her inner thighs, and how the mewling sound she made as she was about to come sent his heart racing. He had missed Ruth, and everything about her, and in three short weeks he would see her again.

Harry was not worried for himself or Jane for their association with Tony Middleton. The businessman's generous donations to both major political parties, as well as many charities around the country would perhaps shield him from disgrace should he be not quite the man he pretended to be. He wondered should he phone Jane when she returned to London. He wondered should he forewarn his daughter … just in case. He'd ask Ruth when she rang him in two days.

He would go home to his empty house and make himself some sausages and eggs, and then he would watch an hour of TV before he climbed the stairs to bed, where he would sleep alone, as he had every night for almost two years. He had waited for her because he knew she'd be returning. He was a man who enjoyed his own company, but he enjoyed Ruth's company more. He had waited for her, and he hoped she had waited for him.

Harry stood to take his coat from the coat stand behind his desk, before leaving his office, locking the door behind him. He whistled as he took the elevator down to the basement car park. After a depressing and frustrating start, it had turned into a very good day.


	4. Chapter 4

Ruth worked through much of the night and into the next day. By lunchtime she was exhausted and hungry. She'd have time to fuel her body, but not to sleep. That would have to wait until later in the day, when she'd head to bed at dusk and sleep for twelve hours or more.

Her time working in the US had passed rather quickly. The first month had been the worst. She'd missed her life, her job, and she'd grieved the loss of what she and Harry had been about to embark upon. The parallel with her sudden leaving of London five years earlier was not lost on her. Since returning to London from Cyprus she'd learned to live with limited social contact. The loss of George and her life in Cyprus, the loss of Nico, so quickly followed by the loss of Jo Portman and then Ros, had left her wary of forming close attachments with anyone. Her work became her life, and she'd always enjoyed her work. She worked long hours, leaving her almost no time for socialising. She could do nothing about her attachment to Harry; it seemed that her connection to him was sourced somewhere in her DNA. Like a grease stain, he was still there, and nothing she did could remove him, so it had seemed best to her that she simply give in, and see where that took them.

Since living in Brooklyn she had made few friends. She had a nodding relationship with almost everyone in her building, but that could hardly be classed as friendship. There was Gabe at the sandwich shop, and sisters Lucy and Melinda, who shared a flat in her building. Ruth was almost certain they were not plants – people who were living close by her to keep an eye on her. The two women were from a small town in Maine, both younger than Ruth, and neither sister seemed in any way curious about Ruth. Every few weeks they would meet for drinks or coffee, where Lucy and Melinda regaled Ruth with unlikely tales of their adventures with men they'd dated. Ruth listened, and the girls talked. It was an easy relationship, and it gave Ruth much-needed contact with others. Other than that, and her weekly meetings with Gene Greczyn, Ruth interacted with no-one, and she'd learned to be content with that.

And now there was Jane Middleton. She had befriended Jane with ease, but only because Jane had been more gregarious than most English people she knew. As much as she needed to believe that meeting Jane had been contrived, the more she went over it in her mind, the less likely that idea became. It just wasn't possible or probable. For once in her life, she had to entertain the idea that running into Harry's ex-wife in Manhattan had been a coincidence, something in which she didn't believe. What had surprised her the most was how easygoing Jane seemed. Considering it had been more than two decades, and two more husbands since the dissolution of her marriage to Harry, it was likely that the woman Ruth had befriended was a different person altogether than the one who had shared Harry's life and given him two children.

As Ruth sat at the back of the train carriage on her way into Manhattan to meet Jane, her mind, unfettered by worries, wandered to the subject of children. It was clear that, at the age of forty-three, she would not be having children. During those first difficult weeks in New York two years earlier, Ruth had felt sorry for herself, chiefly because the option for her to have children had never been presented. Other than George's son, Nico, she had not shared her life with a child, and it seemed likely she never would. Were she and Harry to continue their intimate relationship on her return to London, they were both too old and too busy to even consider the possibility of having children. While the subject had never arisen between them, Ruth was certain Harry would not welcome more children into his life, especially given his difficult relationships with his own children.

Ruth stared through the carriage window into the blackness of the subway, and swallowed the grief she had not known she'd carried for her unborn children. In all likelihood, she'd be a terrible mother. She'd been a good mother to Nico, but he had been an easy child to love. The hard work, the baby stage, had been handled by his own mother, so that by the time she had entered his life, he was a fully formed person, able to feed and dress himself, and with the ability to make decisions which didn't involve temper tantrums, and a variety of soft foods and cutlery being thrown on the floor. In those early days, when she and Harry had first acknowledged their attraction to one another, she had imagined having a child with him, but even then she couldn't imagine Harry changing his lifestyle to accommodate a child. Children were incompatible with the level of commitment they each had made to their work.

So by the time Ruth left the subway at 77th Street to climb the steps to Lexington Avenue, she felt flat and depressed. She took her time walking to The English Conservatory, knowing she'd have to fake a smile and a lightened mood if she was to avoid the questioning of Jane Middleton. As she stepped through the doorway into the bright interior of the Conservatory, Ruth suddenly felt lighter. She was meeting a friend for lunch – something she hadn't done in over two years – and so it was in her best interests for her to enjoy herself.

Jane was already sitting at a table, and lifted her hand to wave as Ruth entered the room. Outside, on Lexington Avenue, the sky above was grey, while inside The English Conservatory, the light was muted, but bright.

"I've already ordered," Jane said, pointing to the chair opposite. "I hope you don't mind. It's my treat, so I get to choose."

Ruth was still shuffling her chair to the table, but dropped her eyes and smiled. Jane had already taken charge. How like Harry she was. Perhaps some of their difficulties may have stemmed from them being similar characters, each demanding to be the one in control.

"I hope you like English Breakfast tea," Jane continued, fussing with her linen napkin, "and I ordered us an assortment of sandwiches, which will be followed by scones, jam and cream."

Ruth lifted her eyes and smiled. She was relieved that she didn't have to force her smile, or to make a decision about what to eat. She found Jane an easy person to like.

Ruth was relieved that like her, Jane had a healthy appetite, and didn't mind being seen enjoying her food. Their conversation so far had been mundane, mostly about the food, the weather, and the Americans, so once what remained of their sandwiches had been taken away, they were free to sit back and enjoy the English Breakfast tea. Ruth had been worried about how – or even if - to bring up the subject of Jane's husband's business practises, but she need not have worried. When she asked Jane was her husband in New York on business, Jane could not have been more willing to share her thoughts on the matter.

"Ugh, business," Jane exclaimed. "Don't I hate it." Jane carefully placed her tea cup in the saucer before she continued, her eyes wandering around the room, and then back to Ruth. She leaned forward in her chair, her voice much quieter. "Just being honest," she said in a loud whisper, "I've been wondering if he is having me followed."

"Followed? Why on earth would he have you followed?"

"Well, there are a few reasons. I told you about how my first husband works for the security service." Ruth nodded, maintaining her non-committal expression. "Tony thinks I've contacted Harry – that's my first husband – about him."

"And have you?"

"Good God, no. Harry and I only ever communicate through our children -"

"I thought you told me that he _was_ a spy … past tense. I'd assumed he was retired."

"My mistake. There was a rumble a couple of months ago, and my daughter told me her father was talking of retiring, so I thought … well, you would, wouldn't you? The man's nearly sixty, and spying is a game for the young and daring. Then there was talk some time back about him being taken into custody by the CIA for the death of someone-or-other, but he wriggled out of that, and a former member of his staff - a woman, too - took his place."

Ruth dropped her eyes. "But isn't that kind of information … classified?"

"That's it exactly. Tony knows far too much about the security services, as well as what my former husband does or doesn't do, and I find that very strange. When we were married, Harry told me nothing at all. When I'd ask how was his day, he couldn't even share that." Again Jane leaned forward, her grey eyes on Ruth. "I have a strange feeling about Tony, and it's not good. He has peculiar people around him, and I don't like them."

"I can remember you telling me he was a nice man who didn't remember birthdays and anniversaries."

"Did I say that?" Ruth nodded. "That's my stock answer when anyone asks. He _is_ a nice man, but there is this other side to his life, one into which I'm definitely not invited, and it bothers me. There are times when I simply don't trust Tony."

"Do you ever ask him anything … express your concerns?"

"I have, but when I do he just gives me another credit card, or a diamond ring. I have a drawer at home full of credit cards and jewellery. I thought I'd married a man, and I find I'm married to an income source."

Ruth thought it time she became just a little more open with Jane, without giving away her identity. "I have to ask this, Jane, so please forgive me in advance. Why are you telling me this?"

Jane appeared shocked by Ruth's frankness, which Ruth thought strange, given Jane's easy disclosures. She sat back and watched her for a long moment. "Because I like you, and you're English, and I trust you. You come across as being sensible .. someone who knows what's what, and unlike me, I suspect you're discreet. I have a feeling you know more about the world than do I. I suppose I just needed an … honest opinion. I'm sorry if I've spoken out of turn."

"You have no need to be sorry," Ruth replied quickly, "and you haven't spoken out of turn. I suppose I am … all of the things you mention." And in the moment, as she considered continuing as Alison, the translator who had no idea who this Jane was, Ruth made a split second decision, hoping it was the right one. "But I am so much more than … that." Ruth dropped her eyes, grasping her hands together in her lap. What followed was risky, and she hoped it wouldn't come back to bite her, and if it did, she would just have to face the consequences. In that critical moment, that turning point in time, Ruth reminded herself that she was, after all, on a fact-finding mission. "I need to tell you something about myself."

Jane's eyes brightened, and then she frowned. "You're not one of Tony's stooges, are you? Surely he isn't paying you to keep an eye on me, and report back to him. Wouldn't that be a turn-up?"

Ruth shook her head and smiled. "I'm not. For a couple of days I'd thought that it was you who were following me."

"What? Why would I want to be following you, and more to the point, why would anyone pay me to follow someone? I'd be terrible at it. I'd bump into them, then apologise, offering to buy them a G & T as compensation."

Ruth couldn't help but smile. Maybe it was Jane's inability as a spook which had her and Harry at loggerheads. Perhaps she just couldn't see the point of it all. "I … my name's not Alison, but I can't tell you my real name -" Ruth stopped when she saw Jane's expression change from curiosity to a penny-dropping moment.

"Oh, God, you're one of them .. aren't you? You're security service."

"I was. I was, and still am, an intelligence analyst. I work in the Home Office, for the Home Secretary, but I am currently .." Ruth took a deep breath, because this was where everything could go very badly for her, but she felt strongly that to get Jane Middleton on side, to fully gain her trust, she first had to be brutally honest with her. "I am currently under a two year contract with the CIA." When she saw Jane's bewilderment, she decided to continue, to share that one last connection. "I'm serving a sentence in Harry Pearce's place."

Ruth watched as Jane's eyes widened, and then she opened her mouth to speak, and then closed her mouth. Then the older woman sighed, and her face relaxed. "So you didn't know who I was .. that Harry was my ex-husband."

"Not when I met you, no. It wasn't until you mentioned that your first husband was a knight, and then when you said his name, I ..."

"You found an excuse to leave in rather a hurry."

"I did," Ruth replied. "I didn't know what else to do, and that's when I suspected you of following me."

Ruth watched Jane's face change from being resigned and closed, to widening in a smile. "Well … that's a surprise. So .. you know Harry."

"Yes."

"And you must know him well, otherwise why would you sacrifice two years of your life for him? I'm not sure I would have done that for him, even when we were married."

"We're close, yes."

"Close like this?" Jane asked, holding up her right hand with her first two fingers entwined.

Ruth knew that the interrogation by Jane would be a necessary part of the process, so she nodded. "We've been close for a while. I need you to know that it was my idea. Had Harry been taken, he'd not have survived, not at his age."

"He wouldn't have enjoyed you telling him that."

"No, he didn't, and he fought my decision, but I consider the sacrifice of two years of my life a small price to pay for his life and his freedom."

"Then, Alison – or whatever your real name is – you're a much better woman than I am."

Ruth dropped her eyes. She loved Harry, and wanted him to keep doing what he did best. As she saw it, her two years had been worth it. "I go home in three weeks," she said. When Jane nodded, but didn't speak, she calculated that this was the moment when the real business could be dealt with. "I'm now about to ask you something which you may choose to not answer." When Jane gave a small nod, Ruth continued. "Do you know the real sources of your husband's income?"

Jane's drew her eyebrows together, frowning for a moment, before her expression again became one of cheerful curiosity. "As far as I know, he's in the business of manufacturing components for small scale industrial and gardening equipment, like ride-on mowers, hedge trimmers, and chain saws. I also suspect that this is not all he does. After all, how many people in that business have a bottomless source of income?"

"Do you know who it is he's meeting in New York?"

"I've no idea. When I ask, he just says it's to do with investment. According to him, he has investors in all parts of the world."

"And you don't believe him?"

"I did once, when the credit cards kept coming, and he'd encourage me to spend, but after a while even that palls. How many outfits and pairs of shoes does one woman need?"

"You mentioned some of the people he has around him. Can you share with me more about that?"

They were interrupted by a waitress delivering their scones, jam and cream, as well as another pot of tea. While Jane was choosing her scone, and then breaking it, and spreading it with jam and cream, Ruth watched her. What she saw was another side to Jane. The woman was clearly bright, and was worried about what murky business her husband was embroiled in.

Ruth waited while Jane ate her scone, and then sat back and gave Ruth eye contact. "There are two of them who visit the house regularly, and usually after office hours," she began. "They make my skin crawl. When I mentioned this to Tony, he said that the two of them together are responsible for his business being so lucrative. I could tell by his tone of voice that the discussion about these men ended there."

"These men, Jane – what are their names?"

"I was afraid you'd ask me that. I'm not sure I feel comfortable with that level of disclosure, although given you know Harry, discovering who these lowlifes are would be easy."

"I know that you must feel afraid for your .. safety, Jane."

"I certainly do now .. now that I've spoken with you."

"You must keep this conversation to yourself. Your husband must not know you have spoken to me." Ruth waited while Jane absorbed her words, and then nodded. "There's just one more thing ... do you think Tony is having you followed?"

Jane poured another cup of tea for them both, while Ruth watched her closely. It was clear to Ruth that Jane had been rattled by Ruth's confessions. Jane sugared and milked her tea, stirred it, and then took a dainty sip. "I don't think he is. I know that were he to be keeping tabs on me, he'd choose one of his goons. He has a group of men who provide security for him and his … other people. I have made it clear that I don't wish to be accompanied by some man with no conversation and no neck. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."

"I don't doubt that," Ruth said softly, and then she decided that she'd asked enough questions, pushed this woman so far out of her comfort zone that she may never again find it, and so anything else she needed to know about her husband needed to be gleaned from her own investigation, and consultation with Harry. It was time she lightened the mood. "So," Ruth continued, "tell me about your children," and with that question, Jane Middleton's face brightened, and she sat back, hands folded primly in her lap, ready to share with Ruth her proudest, lowest, funniest, and most memorable moments as a mother. If Ruth wasn't to have children of her own, perhaps she could live through the mothering experiences of another, and who better than the mother of Harry's children?

* * *

 _ **A/N : As in Chapter 1, the level of disclosure (by both women) in this chapter has been added for a reason. Without it, the story would only progress slowly, and in a way which is far less interesting than what I have planned for it. Whether what happens in this chapter is likely in real life is hardly the point, given this is fanfic**_.


	5. Chapter 5

_Jesus!_ Harry held back his immediate reaction, a desire to vent, to explode at her, asking her what was she thinking. Ruth had rung him to tell him about her meeting with his ex-wife. He took a deep breath. "That was incredibly risky," he said carefully, hoping he'd successfully hidden his irritation. He'd wanted to use the word, `foolish', but was aware that Ruth would not take that judgement well, especially coming from him.

Ruth was sitting on her bed, her back propped against two pillows, her safe phone to her ear. "I know it was, but it was a calculated risk. At the time it felt like the only way I could get close enough to her to get the information I needed. She's a very bright woman, Harry."

"I know that, but how do you know she'll not confide in Middleton?"

"Because I asked her not to, and besides, she no longer trusts him."

She heard Harry sigh at the other end of the phone. "When I told you I'd trust your judgement on this, I hadn't expected you to bare your soul to her, Ruth."

"I could think of no other way to get the information, and she has told me most of what she knows, apart from the names of the men who have apparently expanded Middleton's business." Ruth listened as Harry again sighed heavily into the phone. "And if things get ugly at my end," she continued, "I need to know you'll provide backup for me."

"Of course. What do you take me for?"

"We're meant to not be in communication with one another, so if things fall apart at this end, you're meant to have no knowledge of any of what I've told you."

There was a silence of several heartbeats. "How likely is it that something will go wrong, Ruth? Isn't it more likely that Jane will be found out? She may have been followed, but is unaware of it."

"There were no neckless men in the vicinity."

"Neckless?"

"It was just something Jane said .. about the goons Middleton has in his security detail."

"The investigation being done by my analysts suggests that he has a troop of around six people who are responsible for his security. They are not my concern, although the fact that he has them sets off all kinds of alarms."

"Perhaps … when I get back … I can look into it further."

"I think you should keep your distance from this. You can't do anything about what you've told Jane, but I don't want you getting involved."

"I already am involved, and Jane gave me her phone number, and when I return to London and get a phone, I intend ringing her."

"You feel responsible."

"Yes. I do, and I like her."

"So you've already said."

Noting the coolness in Harry's voice, Ruth decided to change the subject. "I received an email today, and my flight gets into Heathrow at 2.10 pm on the 16th." Harry's silence worried her. "Harry," she said at last, "what's wrong?"

"I didn't know how to tell you this, but … I'll be in Washington for five days … from the 13th, and I'll not be back in London until Friday the 18th. I tried to wriggle out of it, but … I couldn't."

 _Was that all?_ "Harry, we've not seen one another for two years. I'm sure we can last another two days." Ruth wasn't sure at all, but she had to put on a brave face, something her two years away from home had taught her to do rather convincingly.

"I'd been counting on being the one to meet you at the airport," Harry said quietly.

"Then send Dimitri in your stead."

"You want to see Dimitri?"

"I want to see you, but I'll settle for Dimitri."

Harry had no answer to that.

* * *

Ruth had rung Harry at least weekly, and on the eve of his departure for Washington he had rung her. "Are you packed?" he asked, just for something to say.

"I have so little to pack, I'll be leaving it until the morning of the day I fly out. All I have is a few clothes and books. They're insisting I leave my laptop here, but the CIA promise to replace it once I arrive in London."

"Paranoid sods," was all Harry had to say on the matter.

With each phone call between them, they had relaxed, and with their third or fourth phone call, they had talked for almost two hours, until Ruth had checked the time, calculated the time in London, and suggested it was time Harry went home. "You're not worried about me, are you, Ruth?"

"Of course not, but if you're to be effective at work, you need your sleep."

The sound of Harry chuckling on the other end of the line warmed her. In all likelihood they would see one another in less than a week. For Ruth, the intervening days could not pass quickly enough.

* * *

Only the day before she was to fly out of New York, Ruth entered the office of Gene Greczyn for the last time.

"They tell me you're leaving," Gene said, accepting her pile of completed work with a grunt, and the briefest of eye contact. "I'll miss you," he said, stubbing out his cigarette in an ash tray which was already full to overflowing.

To say Ruth was flabbergasted was an understatement. "You … _why_?" In the two years she'd been reporting to him, Gene had only occasionally looked at her directly, never referred to her by name, and what little conversation he had had been in the form of complaint … about anything and everything.

"You're my best agent," he said sadly. "Most who come in here are full of excuses. You wouldn't believe the crap I have to listen to. _I couldn't finish my report because my hamster ate my notes._ True story. _"_ He lifted his eyes to her and rolled them. " _The power was off in my building for two days,_ they said _. Then_ _light_ _a candle,_ I said. _I_ _'m_ _fresh out of candles_ , they said. _Do you know where the nearest supermarket is,_ I asked. _Yeah_ , they said. _So buy some_ , I said. Whiners, the lot of them. You, on the other hand, you do your work and you get it to me on time."

Ruth didn't quite know what to say. "Thank you," she said at last. She wanted to tell Gene she'd miss him, but that wasn't true at all. She was relieved that she would never again have to climb the stairs to his dark office which smelled of cigarette smoke and his long lost dreams for himself. And she would never again have to listen to his whining.

"You're welcome," he said.

Ruth was about to leave, when Gene again addressed her, this time standing and walking around his desk, something he had not done once in the two years she'd been reporting to him weekly. "There's something else," he said, turning to take a bulky manilla enveloped from beneath a pile of folders and several note books; Gene didn't trust computers. "You've impressed the big guns, and on top of your final payment, which they tell me is due to go into your bank account tomorrow, they've given you a bonus … in cash."

Ruth didn't trust him, had never quite allowed herself to believe most of what he said. He was holding out the envelope to her, expecting her to take it, while in her mind she was imagining the envelope exploding, sending her and Gene together into the Great Beyond. She gave an involuntary shudder.

"I thought the same thing when I was given it to give to you," he said, his smile exposing nicotine-stained teeth. "I expected it to explode in my face at any moment, but I'm assured it holds five grand."

"Five thousand dollars?" she said, staring at the envelope, still not quite trusting it.

"Nah. Five thousand pounds."

"Why didn't you keep it for yourself?" Ruth asked quietly, at last taking the envelope from Gene's hand.

"Because it's yours, and were I to keep it, that would be stealing. Besides, there's this form you have to sign, or else the money will come out of my salary," he said, pushing a pen and a form across the corner of the desk for her to sign.

Ruth signed the form with a flourish, stuffed the envelope into her brief case, turned and left. Gene Greczyn had surprised her, and for some reason that made her happy.

* * *

Dimitri had met her at Heathrow, his dark head visible above the heads of the crowd of people waiting to meet passengers who had disembarked.

"Evershed," he'd said, reaching down to kiss her cheek, "am I ever glad to see you."

"And I you," Ruth had replied politely, and with a smile.

"I know that's not true. I know you'd rather I were shorter, balding, and on the wrong side of fifty, but you'll have to make do with me."

Ruth had quickly looked away, pretending to look for the loos. How like Dimitri to mention Harry, even if it was in an indirect way. She couldn't encourage his interest in her and Harry. Besides, she had little idea where she and Harry stood with one another. They hadn't yet directly addressed their personal relationship. That would have to wait until they met in person, but speaking for herself, Ruth was keen for them to be taking some risks with one another. Who knew when they'd be parted once more?

In the hour or so it took Dimitri to drive her to her flat – a different flat from the one she'd occupied when she'd left London for New York – he had regaled her with stories from the Grid, mostly about Erin - "She lines up her pens in order of the colours of the rainbow. Can you believe that?" Ruth smiled, but she didn't believe him. To her, it sounded like yet another Grid Tall Tale. He also spoke of Calum - "The lad is coming along nicely, and who knows, one day he'll make a good spy."

Ruth knew he meant well. "Who is senior analyst?" she had asked warily.

"Caroline."

"Caroline who?"

"Caroline Brayshaw."

Ruth was mildly shocked by that news. Harry hadn't said a thing. "I knew her. She began working at GCHQ just before I moved to Five."

"If you're worried, she's only been working with Harry for a few months, and his relationship with her is strictly professional."

Ruth had smiled. She couldn't help it. How like Dimitri to intuit Ruth's concern about the new analyst. Caroline Brayshaw was tall, willowy, and very, very attractive.

"Besides, she got married earlier this year," Dimitri said quietly, negotiating a roundabout, while intermittently swearing at the driver of a van who had cut across in front of him.

"Caroline?"

"Yes. He's a mathematician at GCHQ. Greg something."

Well, that settled that. Ruth had no reason to worry about Caroline, although the fact that she'd experienced even a moment of gut-grabbing jealousy had surprised her.

* * *

Dimitri had driven down several residential streets until they reached a long, curving avenue where homes of two stories and bay windows lined the street on both sides. The houses were narrow, Edwardian, and Ruth thought they appeared quaint and cosy.

"Number 57," Dimitri said, slowing the car, his eyes glancing from house to house. "Harry told me to look for a blue front door."

"Harry chose it?" she asked.

"Harry did all the leg work, including purchasing the furniture, and organising a painter and decorator." Dimitri stopped the car outside the house with the bright blue front door. "The flat had a few basics bits of furniture, but he wanted you to have nice stuff." Dimitri turned off the ignition and turned to face her. "You're getting special treatment, Evershed. Welcome to London."

Ruth's flat wasn't behind the blue door. Dimitri led her down a narrow driveway along one side of the house to where a small portico hid a grey door with a brass letter _C_ on the front. He produced another set of keys, and opened the door. Inside it was dark, but natural light beamed through from the back of the flat. Ruth followed Dimitri inside, before he turned towards her and handed her the keys. "These are yours," he said simply.

It was a small flat which gave the illusion of space. From a tiny entrance hall, Dimitri led her into an airy living room, off which was a spacious bedroom. "Note the brass bed," Dimitri said quietly. "My sister and brother-in-law once had one of those, but it collapsed," he added, avoiding Ruth's eyes. "I think Harry got it at a secondhand furniture store. The sofa and chairs in the living room came from my folks, who are retiring to Brighton."

Ruth thought it best to say nothing, so she nodded and smiled. The bedroom was lovely. She knew she'd enjoy sleeping in there.

"And this is the kitchen and the dining area. That door off the kitchen is your bathroom and loo, and through those sliding doors ahead you have your very own courtyard. I believe this was once one of our safe houses."

"You're in the wrong business, Dimitri. You should have been an estate agent."

"Hardly. I'd have to bullshit my way through each day."

"That sounds like the definition of spying to me," Ruth said, turning from her scrutiny of the tiny courtyard to smile shyly up at him.

Dimitri didn't know what to say to that. Ruth had always been so much brighter than he was. She was good with words and ideas – _and_ with Harry, of course – while his comfort zone was anywhere he could be surrounded on all sides by the ocean. He turned to the table, on top of which were several objects. "These are for you," he said, pointing to the mobile phone, the laptop, and the tablet. "And Erin went shopping after work yesterday, and stocked your cupboards, and the fridge," he said, opening the fridge door to show her how well stocked she was. "I believe she also bought a few personal items for the bathroom."

"Who paid for all this?" Ruth asked quietly.

"Who do you think? Who's been like a kid left overnight in a lolly shop ever since he heard you were returning?"

As nice as his words were, Dimitri was stepping over a line. "Please don't tell anyone else that Harry organised all this."

"We all know, Ruth. Erin, me, Calum, and even our new techie, Joe. He knows, although it doesn't mean a lot to him, since he hasn't met you. We're all happy for you."

She wanted to share with Dimitri that she didn't know yet if there was anything for them to be happy about, but she kept her thoughts to herself. "Please don't say anything to Harry."

"Too late. He's had to face a bit of a ribbing from Calum these past few weeks."

"Harry wouldn't have liked that."

"Oh, I don't know. He was too happy about you coming home to be mad at Calum. I, on the other hand, gave Calum a talking to. He's prone to boyish over-enthusiasm."

Ruth smiled up at Dimitri, then reached out to grasp his arm. "Thank you," she said, "for everything."

Then he brought Ruth's two bags inside, nodded to her with a, "see ya, Evershed," before quickly leaving. Ruth opened her mouth to thank him once more, but the door had closed behind him, leaving her alone in yet another new home.

* * *

Ruth spent what remained of the day unpacking her few possessions, and familiarising herself with her new flat. Just before six she cooked herself some sausages, eggs and chips, and then sat at the small table, her laptop open beside her, thoroughly enjoying every mouthful of one of her very favourite meals from childhood. She showered in the small bathroom just off the kitchen, and then climbed into bed with a book of American poetry. While in the US, she had grown to appreciate the works of Walt Whitman and Emily Dickinson. She had even found herself warming to the poems of E A Robinson. She was curled up on one side of the bed, wondering whether one day soon Harry would occupy the side of the bed closest to the door, when her phone rang. Being after nine, it could only have been one person.

"I'm not too late, am I?" he said without preamble. "It's just that I had some news today which I feel I should tell you."

"Good news?"

"Not exactly. I'm having to stay here another night. I just got out of an all day meeting with a core of CIA heads, and to say they can talk is an understatement." Ruth knew that to be true. "There's another meeting on Friday – all day – which I am expected to attend, so I won't be able to come home until Saturday. I'm sorry, Ruth."

"It's alright, Harry. So long as you're coming home some time."

"I'll ring you tomorrow night … if that's alright with you -"

"It is."

"- and I'm due at dinner in a few minutes, so I … I just needed to hear your voice."

Harry's voice had become husky, and Ruth knew what that meant. He was longing to see her just as she was longing to see him. "I love the flat," she said quickly, "and thank you for … everything you've done to make it comfortable for me. I suspect I might owe you."

"You owe me nothing, Ruth. I am the one who owes you. I'll never be able to repay you for my ..."

"Don't," she said quickly. "Please don't say you feel guilty, or that you owe me. I couldn't stand that. I did what I did because I didn't want you to die. We talked about that before I left London."

"I know."

"What I did was what any person would do for the person they ..." and she couldn't quite speak the word aloud, and especially not while on the the phone. She even doubted she could say it to his face.

"I know you do, Ruth." Ruth heard an indistinct jumble of voices in the background, and then Harry continued. "I'm sorry, but have to go now. I'll ring you again when I'm able," and then the call disconnected, and he was gone.

Ruth lay back against her pillows, her phone held against her chest, and she sighed. Suddenly she remembered what life had been like in London, and how busy Harry had always been. How would it be possible to conduct a relationship with a man who was always needed elsewhere, whose time was never his own? Ruth sighed heavily once more. With Harry not due home for almost four days, perhaps it was time she contacted Jane Middleton.


	6. Chapter 6

Ruth was surprised by how much she was looking forward to seeing Jane. Jane had been busy on Thursday, and so Ruth spent the day exploring her neighbourhood on foot, finding the best shops within walking distance, including several coffee shops, an Indian restaurant, two pubs, a post office, a masseuse, and a medical centre. Mid-morning Friday, Ruth stood in front of her wardrobe, and with the door open, she could see that she – literally – had almost nothing to wear. In the end she chose a pair of black slacks, a grey sweater she'd bought on a whim while in New York, and a thigh length black woollen coat which had travelled all the way to New York and back with her. She'd added colour with a pink and lavender silk scarf, which she'd purchased in a market in Brooklyn. Her hair was badly in need of a proper cut, so she pulled it back from her face, tying it with a wide black clip. It would have to do.

They had arranged to meet at a small lunch bar which was accessible by bus from Ruth's flat. For a moment she had considered asking Jane to join her for lunch in her flat, but that was perhaps a risk too far. Harry had hinted at Jane's tendency to share her thoughts with the world, although Ruth was sure that late-fifties Jane was a mellowed version of the woman she'd been when married to Harry. Dimitri had mentioned in passing the need for her address to be secret, other than from those with a need to know; Harry and the rest of the senior staff were the only ones who knew where she was living. Even the Home Secretary didn't yet know, and she had an appointment with him the following Monday morning.

"I've ordered for us both," were Jane's opening words as Ruth took a seat across from her. "I hope you won't object to an assortment of sandwiches, followed by cheesecake."

"I'll need to walk all the way home to burn it off," Ruth quipped, smiling.

"Rubbish. You're built like an athlete." Ruth was about to object, stating that athletics had never been her strong suit, but Jane barrelled on. "Me, on the other hand, I have to keep up my fuel intake because I talk so much. At least, that's what my husband tells me. My theory, for what it's worth, is that he wants me to get as fat as a pig, and then no other man on earth will so much as look at me. That way, I will never leave him." Ruth was stunned by her honesty. She was sure there was a deeper message in there somewhere. "Have you seen Harry since you've been back?"

Ruth looked up to see Jane's eyes on her. "No .. I haven't. He's .. away at the moment. Until Saturday."

"You see," and Jane leaned forward, dropping her voice, "I have my own reasons for asking you that question. I wasn't being inappropriately personal, although I have been known to ask the occasional question which has sent people scurrying to the farthest corners of a room."

Ruth didn't doubt that in the slightest. "Why … do you wish to see Harry?"

"I can see that you're quick, Alison. I like you. Spy or not, I know I can trust you. I now have some information which may interest you, and by association, Harry."

"Very well."

As the sandwiches were delivered to their table, both women sat back. Ruth was not really a sandwich person, although while in New York she had grown to love - to the point of an unhealthy addiction - Gabe's bacon sandwiches. The assortment of sandwiches on the platter between them appeared to have a variety of fillings - cucumber, lobster, shredded lettuce, avocado, grated carrot, bean sprouts - and that was the fillings she could identify.

"I hope you like crab sandwiches," Jane said, pushing the plate closer to Ruth.

"I thought it was lobster."

"It is, and there's also crab, and there are calamari rings in there somewhere." Jane looked at Ruth, her eyes widening. "Don't tell me you're allergic to shellfish."

"No, I'm not. I haven't eaten a lot of shellfish since the time I lived … on Cyprus." There. She'd said it, and she felt fine about it; after all, it was getting on for four years since George had died, and thinking of him no longer left her paralysed by guilt.

"Cyprus," Jane exclaimed. "I've never been there. Did you like it? Harry and I rarely travelled further than Spain, and Martin – my second husband – insisted we always holidayed in Italy. I wasn't complaining, of course."

Recognising that Jane may have been about to launch into an extensive discussion about holiday destinations, Ruth brought her back to the business at hand. "You said you had a few things to tell me, Jane."

The older woman sat back in her seat. "I have, and just so you know that what I have to tell you is … for yours and Harry's ears only …" She hesitated, glanced around the room, before she continued. "Please pardon me in advance for saying so, but being married to Harry was in many ways a painful experience for us both, but it gave me two lovely children, and some spy sense. Harry would never believe that, but it's true … not about our children, but the bit about me having spy sense. The phone number you have for me is for a phone which is paid for out of Tony's business account, so it's not private, and if he, or any of his henchmen begins to suspect me of anything, they have access to the numbers I call or message. Last week I purchased a pay as you go phone, and I keep it in a secret pocket inside this bag here." She patted the brown leather shoulder bag she'd placed on the spare chair at their table. "Tony doesn't know I have it, and that is the way it will remain. He's been rather ... pre-occupied of late. On it I've saved your number from when you rang me. Tonight I will message you four names. They are the names of the men who are closest to Tony. They are the ones who run his business … the private, hidden side of his business."

This time it was Ruth who leaned forward in her chair, placing her half eaten crab sandwich on her plate. "What do you know about the hidden side, as you call it? How can you be so sure?"

Jane tapped the side of her nose. "Spy craft, Alison. Plain old spy craft. I used to think Harry was delusional, with all his secrets, and his late night phone calls from his office. I was certain he was ringing some woman or other, but he'd assure me it was `work', and I could never get my head around what was so important that he needed to talk about it late at night." Jane stopped speaking to take a sip of her white wine. "A few nights after we returned to London from New York, Tony came to bed rather late. Of itself, that was not unusual. I was afraid he might have been after sex, so I pretended to be asleep. Having been married three times, I'm rather a skilled actor … when the occasion calls for it. He asked me was I awake, and I kept breathing slowly and deeply. Then he made a phone call, and I heard his every word. I now know that his chief sources of income are somewhat ... nefarious. One of them I know for certain is people smuggling, but I'd already suspected that ... having overheard some of his conversations with his ... elves. He also receives shipments of weapons from the US. Of course, they're all in bits, and hidden underneath the parts for whipper snippers and such." Jane stopped for a moment, took a sip of wine, and then breathed in deeply, before letting her breath leave her body slowly. "When he sells machinery parts to the Middle East, there are also parts for weapons in the containers. One of his chiefs is Syrian, but he grew up in London, and he is the one who handles things to and from the Middle East. Of course, there are Customs Officers who are on Tony's payroll." She glanced up at Ruth to ensure she was listening. "Tony is clever, I'll grant him that. He never gets his hands dirty. Each of his four … managers … are the ones who are doing his dirty work for him."

"You gathered all that from one phone call?"

"No, of course not. There's more." She glanced quickly around the room, and then back to Ruth. "The next morning I did something I never thought I would. I am not by nature a brave person, but meeting you in New York has changed me. After Tony had gone to work, accompanied by his team of dark elves, I went to his office upstairs, and using the key I knew he kept inside the Chinese urn on the mantelpiece, I opened the locked drawer in his desk. I even wore gloves." She smiled widely at Ruth. "It was all there. All the transactions, the shipping slips, the notes to and from his … people. I don't know why I didn't think to look there before."

"Because you didn't want to know the truth," Ruth said quickly, her voice very quiet.

Jane nodded. "You're right, of course. I really hadn't wanted to know, and what annoys me now … about myself .. is that I think I knew all along what he was up to. All I'd needed was proof."

"How can you be sure that you were not being … watched?"

"Because his security staff, as well as three of his four elves, all left with him. He doesn't suspect me at all, and he tells me nothing about his business. He believes I have no interest in it at all, which is an attitude I will continue to cultivate." She took a small sip of her wine. "I watched them all leave through a gap in the curtains in the library. I took my chance once they'd left."

"And there are no security cameras?"

"Only on the gates. There is a security code on the lock on the door to his office, but I watched one morning from behind the door of the spare bedroom while he opened it, so .. now I am able to enter his office when he's not there."

Ruth thought for a long moment, carefully choosing her words. "Why would he not have kept such sensitive information in a safe, or in his office at work?"

"I have no idea. I suspect there are those at work he doesn't trust, but whose skills he relies upon."

"What do you need me to do?" Ruth asked, the sandwiches forgotten.

"I was hoping … since you're rather close to Harry ..."

"Do you want me to tell Harry what you've told me?"

"You _are_ close to him, are you not?" Ruth nodded. "I have no right to know what that means exactly, but if there's the chance of pillow talk, then you are the very person who can convey this information to him."

Ruth had decided before she'd again met Jane that were the subject of her true relationship with Harry to come up, she would admit to nothing, but nor would she deny anything. She smiled across the table at Jane. "It may surprise you to know, Jane, that the bulk of spying doesn't take place in the bedroom."

"It doesn't?"

"No. Mostly, it takes place electronically. It's mostly rather boring."

"I guess I've been watching too many movies," Jane commented.

Which was when the sandwiches were taken away, and the cheesecake placed on the table between them. Ruth couldn't have eaten another thing, but she was happy to watch while Jane tucked into a slice.

* * *

Ruth's Friday had already been busy, and mind-bending, but when her phone rang just after five pm, Ruth was surprised to hear Erin's voice. They greeted one another politely, before Erin immediately launched into the reason she'd rung.

"I don't know whether Harry has said anything to you yet, Ruth, but William Towers is due to retire in January."

"No," Ruth replied, a little shocked. She had been looking forward to once again working with Towers. "He hadn't said a thing about it."

"He may have been wanting your return to London to be uncomplicated, or perhaps he was waiting for the official notification of Tower's retirement … which only came through to my desk today. The public announcement will not be made for a few weeks .. at Towers' request."

"I have a meeting with him on Monday."

"My … gut feeling is that he will want your job to be fully established and secure by the time Dominic Cole takes over."

" _Dominic Cole_?" Ruth almost spat the man's name. "He's ..."

"Dominic Cole is a Conservative in the truest sense of the word." As was usual for Erin, her tone gave nothing away.

"That's one way of putting it." She'd heard that Dominic Cole only sat slightly to the left of Genghis Khan, but how clever to again put a young man in the Home Secretary's office. Ruth didn't have to think for long before she uttered her next words. "I'm not sure I'd want to work with him."

"I find him ultra organised, but inflexible," Erin said carefully. "He and I were on a committee together prior to the Olympics. My suggestion," she continued, "for what it's worth, is that during the next two to three months, you create your own support staff, so that you can work independently of the Home Secretary."

Ruth had been doing that very thing at the time she'd offered herself up to the CIA two years earlier. "It's … impossible to work totally away from his scrutiny. Besides," she added, "Cole may not want the position to continue."

"I had also thought of that," Erin said pensively.

After they ended their call, Ruth wondered what would become of her were Dominic Cole to scrap her position at the Home Office altogether. Would Harry want her back on the Grid? Would _she_ want to return to the Grid?

* * *

When Jane's text message came through, Ruth was in the shower, and she was just about to crawl into bed when her phone rang. She picked it up and answered without thinking. "Jane?" she said.

"It's not Jane," said Harry, "and I hope you're not disappointed."

Harry's voice was deep and playful, and Ruth suddenly felt very warm all over. "Not at all," she replied. "Do you have time for a chat?"

"Not really. We have a ten minute break, and I still have to visit the loo. I just wanted to … hear your voice."

Harry really was a lovely man. "We'll be seeing one another tomorrow, Harry."

"I know. I just needed something … to keep me going until then."

How could she possibly say no to that?

* * *

The next time she heard his voice, he was calling from his own house in London. It was just after five-thirty on Saturday afternoon. "Do you feel like a visit from me? It's just that -"

"Yes," was all she said. Of course she wanted to see him. She'd been waiting two years to see him. In that moment Ruth knew that she wanted everything with Harry, whatever that meant for them. She was not about to deny him; she was not about to deny herself. To hesitate, prevaricate, to falter only slightly, would be monumentally unfair to them both.

He arrived just over an hour later, carrying a bag filled with a takeaway meal he'd promised, along with two bottles of wine. Ruth stood back while he entered her flat. They only stood together for a brief moment in the entrance hall, before she took her eyes from his and pointed in the general direction of the kitchen.

"You can take that through there," she said. "You know where everything is," and he'd done as she suggested. Ruth followed him into the kitchen as he opened her fridge door, and found spots for the wine, before he moved to the table with the bag of takeaway. "Cuppa?" she asked, edging closer to him. What a strange reunion it had been. They hadn't even touched, but perhaps that was because Harry's hands had been full.

Ruth watched him closely as he took the food containers from the bag. All he'd said since entering her flat was, "Chinese," which she'd presumed meant the food. He looked good; his hair was cut close to his scalp, and she was sure he appeared slimmer, but that could have been his casual clothes. She'd always preferred him without a tie. When he turned to face her she smiled into his eyes.

"Yes, please," he said, smiling.

"What?"

"You suggested a cuppa. I'd rather like some English tea, but first," and he stepped towards her, a question in his eyes. Then he reached out with one hand, and Ruth took it. His hand was warm, and large, and he grasped her fingers tightly, and then very gradually he drew her closer, until they were standing toe to toe. Ruth just wanted to feel him around her, so she leaned forward until her forehead rested on his shoulder. When she felt his arms wrap around her, she returned the favour, sliding her own arms around him beneath his jacket, grasping his shirt between her fingers. As she allowed her body to relax against him, she breathed out heavily.

They stood that way for what seemed a long time. Harry's body was warm, and solid, and _real,_ his rapidly beating heart was real. With her head resting against him, she could feel him kissing her hair. It was all too much. She was home with Harry, where she'd wanted to be every day for the past two years. Ruth swallowed her sobs, but to no avail. Some found their way out of her, and so she clung to him tightly, her fingers bunching the material of his shirt, while he drew her closer, uttering words of comfort. "You're home now, Ruth. You're safe," he said. "I'm never letting you go. I'll not let you out of my sight again."

"That's a bit rich," she said, leaning away from him to gain eye contact. He looked surprised, but then realised she was not altogether serious.

This time it was he who relaxed, as he reached up to wipe the tears from her cheeks. "This should be a happy occasion," he said, frowning.

"It is a happy occasion. I'm only able to let go and cry because I'm happy to see you."

She watched Harry as he absorbed her words. "And I can't even express how happy I am to be here … with you .. in the flesh."

Ruth was afraid she would cry all over again, but she couldn't do that to Harry, and she couldn't do that to them, so she swallowed her emotion, and reached up to slide her hands around his neck. The last time she and Harry had been together, they had kissed, and then he'd left through the front door. This time, they would do the same thing, but in reverse. He was already through her door, so all that left was the kissing. No sooner had she thought the word, `kissing', than Harry's mouth had found hers, and the rest was down to muscle memory. They kissed gently, and then with more intensity, bordering on passion. Ruth felt herself pressing her body against his as they kissed. It wasn't until she pushed her knee between his legs, feeling the beginnings of his arousal against her belly, that Harry began to draw away from her.

Ruth frowned her displeasure, and he smiled down at her. "I'm saving the rest for later," he said, and as irritated as Ruth felt in having no say in the matter, she knew it to be one of Harry's better ideas. Food first, pleasures of the flesh later.


	7. Chapter 7

_**A/N : Some M-ish bits in this chapter.**_

* * *

"She did what?"

"She pretended to be asleep while her husband rang his 2IC -"

"Who is?"

"Grant Cutler. He's Middleton's accountant, and Jane believes he's following orders under a promise of a large payout when the job is finished."

"The others?"

"Jane broke into the desk in his office – wearing gloves – and discovered the names of Tony's four … what shall we call them …?"

"His team of merry men," he said, lifting one eyebrow.

"Jane refers to them as his dark elves, which is rather apt." Ruth took another mouthful of lamb and rice, and chewed it slowly. She was not terribly hungry, unlike Harry, who had already wolfed down his meal. She was a little nervous about later, but looking forward to it. In her early days working on the Grid, Harry's reputation with woman had followed him, although she had never witnessed first hand any rakish behaviour from Harry. On the contrary, he had always been respectful of her, and more often than not, lacking in confidence – hardly the default behaviour of the womaniser Zaf and Adam had declared him to be.

This time they were not about to be parted. This time, they were about to embark upon something sweet with promise. "Cutler is the brains, and Jurgen Brecht provides the brawn, the energy," Ruth continued. "He's Danish, or Norwegian, I can't remember which. Then there's Jeffrey Jenner. He's the Executive Sales Manager, which is an empty title. He organises the shipments. The contact in the Middle East is Yusuf Ali, who was born and educated in London, but has political and family connections in Syria. That's about all I know."

Ruth waited while Harry fiddled with the fork which lay on his empty plate. Then he took a sip of wine before moving the fork to the other side of the plate. He was making her nervous, and she longed to reach across the table to still his fingers. He was clearly worried about something … or someone. Before he said anything, Harry lifted his eyes to hers, and she could read the anxiety in them.

"Jane needs to get out of there," he said quietly. "She's out of her depth. Were Middleton to discover what she has done, and that she has told you, then … the two of you could be in grave danger."

"Do you really think -?"

"I know that, as charming as he pretends to be, Tony Middleton is ruthless. Anyone who operates the way he does will stop at nothing. Anyone who gets in his way will meet with a sticky end."

Ruth took a deep breath before continuing. "Jane wanted me to tell you .. everything she told me, and I believe that … she expects you'll be able to do something."

" _Do_ something? Like what?"

"The man is funding terrorism both here and overseas. Why can't he be … brought in for questioning?"

"Ruth … you know how this works. If the government of the day … benefits from Middleton's activities, then I am unable to act in any way to stop him."

"So … what you're saying is that you won't do anything." Ruth was beginning to feel angry with Harry. What was wrong with him?

"What I'm saying is that I have already been stopped from acting to … detain Middleton, or to in any way prevent him from continuing business as usual."

"By whom?"

"By Cabinet … through Towers."

"That's outrageous." Ruth sat back, her appetite having suddenly left her. "So Jane risked … _everything_ … for nothing."

Ruth was sure that Harry squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. "Perhaps not completely for nothing .. no .. but should the government of the day change, then her … proof of Middleton's activities could be useful."

"But what she knows can bring down this government."

"Ruth ..." Harry looked across the table at her, and all she saw in his eyes was love for her. "Middleton grants large chunks of his ill-gained profits to fund certain government projects. No-one associated with government is going to stand by while Middleton is publicly stoned … metaphorically speaking."

"So Jane has gathered evidence, and passed it on to me, at great danger to us both, and yet nothing will change as a result."

Harry sat back in his chair and sighed. "In the short term, yes." He hesitated before continuing. "The up side of her discovery is that at least she now knows what kind of man he is, so she can ..."

"Leave him?"

"If she wants to live a long life, yes." Harry continued to watch her. "This presents a challenge for Jane. It's to do with whether her love of the good life can be overcome by her need for self respect."

"And which do you believe will triumph?"

"I like to think that Jane has matured, and that her need to sleep well at night will outrank her need to live in luxury."

Ruth looked down at the place mat in front of her, before she again sought Harry's eye contact. "Perhaps I should again meet with her, just to talk this situation through with her."

Harry gazed across the table at her, his eyes softening. How like Ruth to be concerned for Jane's welfare and safety, perhaps even at the expense of her own. "Why would you risk so much for her?"

"Because when I was alone in a large city, she befriended me, and wanted nothing from me in return. I feel that it's time I ..."

"Returned the favour?"

Ruth nodded. Harry watched her closely for a long moment, and then he stood suddenly, gathering their plates, and then piling on top of them the spent food containers. He carried the lot to the sink, where she heard him scraping and rinsing plates, and the sound of him opening and closing the cupboard door where she kept the bin. Ruth had always been able to read Harry rather well, and she could detect that he was more worried than angry. Perhaps his concern about her own involvement in Jane's situation was to be understood, but he'd been confronted by his fear for Jane.

She turned in her chair to watch him. Before leaving London two years earlier, one of Ruth's favourite pastimes had been watching Harry. In all the time she had known him, he had always moved fluidly and easily. Before he sat down to eat he had removed his jacket and draped it over the back of a chair. She watched as his back and shoulders flexed beneath the fabric of his shirt as he leaned down to open the bin. He had already rolled up his shirt sleeves to just below his elbows, giving her a view of his forearms, and when he bent over to grab dish-washing detergent from the cupboard under the sink, she had a quick glimpse of his buttocks straining inside his trousers.

Ruth was still staring at Harry, but then noticed that he had stopped moving, and that he'd turned to face her. She had been staring at his groin, so when she lifted her eyes to his, she found he was smiling.

"Sorry," she said, quickly taking her eyes from his.

"Don't be."

In what appeared to be one swift movement, Harry placed the bottle of detergent on the sink, and crossed the floor to stand beside her. Somehow, he lifted her from her chair, and slid both arms around her, holding her loosely. "Do you know what I want?" he asked huskily, his mouth close to her ear.

Ruth pulled her head back so that she could look at him. He was staring at her, his eyes dark and moody, their depth drawing her in. She knew that look. She'd seen it in his eyes on many occasions. She could answer him in words, or she could answer him with actions. Without thinking too much about the wisdom of what she was about to do, she reached down and pressed her palm against the front of his trousers. She heard him gasp, before he pushed himself against her palm. Once she felt him slowly unfurling inside his underwear, she very gently grasped him, before beginning a slow and gentle massage up and down his length, all the time watching him.

When he closed his eyes, she spoke quietly. "I know what you want, Harry. I'm just letting you know what I want."

He groaned, then opened his eyes and nodded. "Good," was all he could say, before he very slowly pulled away from her, taking her hand and gently removing it from his trousers. "I'm guessing you don't want us to be coupling on your kitchen table Ruth … which would have happened had I allowed you to .. continue .. with that."

"I'm surprised you can still speak in complete sentences."

"Force of habit, I suppose," he said, gazing at her with barely disguised longing.

"But I'm still surmising you want to take me to bed," she said, leaning into him, and slipping her hands around his neck, their lower bodies a little way apart.

He nodded. "But I also want more, Ruth. I want everything with you, beginning tonight."

"By everything, you mean -"

"Everything there is for a man and woman to have together, and I mean everything."

Ruth found herself swallowing, but she maintained eye contact. "So … subtlety is not your second name."

"Nor yours, it seems."

" _Touché_ .."

All Harry's movements were measured, even slow. He had learned long ago that Ruth didn't appreciate it when he moved too fast, or at the wrong time. Despite her bold actions, if they were to make genuine progress he needed to give her time, so he placed his hands on her hips, and very carefully pulled her against him, until his belly pressed against her, just beneath her breasts. Then he placed his lips on her temple, then just beneath her earlobe, then her cheekbone, then at the corner of her mouth, before he pressed his lips to hers. When he pulled away, he was watching her face for her reaction.

Ruth was noticing how different Harry was this night than when he had visited her on her last night in London. Then he'd been exhausted, and had needed her guidance and encouragement, while two years on, Harry appeared much more comfortable and confident with her. Again, his arms tightened around her, pressing her body against his own. His body was hot, especially where his groin pressed against her lower belly, and through their clothing she could feel that he was already half erect.

"Harry," she said quietly, but with some urgency, "perhaps we need to go to .." and she turned her head to nod in the general direction of her bedroom.

Harry understood. He grasped her hand, and hurried them both through to the bedroom, where, once inside the doorway, he began kissing her. He was like a thirsty man who had just crossed the desert. He kissed her again and again, all the time moving them closer to the bed. By the time they reached the bed, he had removed her shirt and his own, and his hands were fumbling with the zipper of her skirt.

"Slow down," she said, pulling out of the kiss, her eyes seeking his. "We have all night."

Harry pulled away a little and took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that if I don't … speed things up, you might disappear." His eyes looked sad. Had she done this to him?

"I want the same thing you do, Harry," she said, "but I want us to enjoy each other … slowly."

"It's been two years," he replied. "I'm not sure I can do this slowly … but I'll try."

Ruth reached up to place her fingertips against his lips. "That's enough talking," she said, and he had to agree with her.

Harry checked with her before he lifted her onto the bed. Then he removed the remainder of his clothes, before helping Ruth with hers, pressing his lips to her newly exposed skin as he went. By the time he joined her on the bed they were both naked.

* * *

When Ruth opened her eyes she felt Harry's body wrapped around her, their skin still moist with perspiration, his genitals soft against her buttocks, his arms loosely surrounding her, so that even in sleep, he was protecting her. The air was filled with the odours of sweat and sex, laced with a hint of Harry's familiar cologne.

After the first frantic foreplay, they'd slowed down, so that the lovemaking was gentle and measured. Ruth smiled into the dark. Her body felt loose and free, and she briefly wondered how soon Harry would be able to do that again.

Ruth had only just closed her eyes once more, hoping to join Harry in sleep, when she heard the ring tone of her phone from the living room. She decided to ignore it. Who could it possibly be? Neither Erin nor Dimitri would be likely to ring her, and, other than Harry, the only person to have her number was Jane.

 _Jane._

It was approaching nine of a Saturday evening, and Jane must have known that Ruth would be with Harry, so why would she be ringing her?

Her phone kept ringing, so very carefully she slid out of Harry's embrace, eliciting a sleepy mumble of indecipherable protest from him. Once out of bed, she shrugged on her dressing gown and slid her feet into slippers. By the time she reached her phone, it had stopped ringing, but picking it up from the coffee table, she saw that her caller had been Jane, and to Ruth's mind, Harry's ex-wife would hardly be calling her unless what she had to say was important. She was about to return Jane's call when again the phone rang.

"Jane?" she said.

"If Harry with you?"

"He is, but -"

"Then just listen. I think I'm going to need the help of you both."

So Ruth listened, and when they ended the call, she carefully placed her phone back on the coffee table, and stood for a while, pondering the wisdom of Jane's suggestion. Perhaps Harry needed to have a say about how they handled the situation, so she quickly returned to the bedroom.

* * *

An hour later, they had showered and dressed, and Harry had parked his car just around the corner from The Bent Street Café, a small eatery Jane sometimes visited when she needed to put distance between herself and the enormous house she shared with Tony.

"I wish we'd had time to set up comms," Harry murmured, turning off the ignition.

"I'm meeting your ex-wife, not a terror suspect, and if anything untoward happens, I have my phone."

"You can hardly shoot someone with your phone, Ruth."

"You know what I mean."

Of course he did. Even if he gave her a weapon to use, she'd hardly be likely to use it. The shadow of Ruth having shot the French assassin, Rigaut, had never left them. "I think she's playing with fire," Harry said grumpily. Jane had requested a meeting with Ruth, stating that were she seen with her ex-husband, a senior member of the domestic intelligence service, suspicions could be aroused. He knew she was right. It's just that he hated sending Ruth off on her own. As the man who loved her, it was his job to protect her, to keep her safe.

Before she left the car, Ruth leaned across to place a quick peck on his lips, taking him by surprise. "Keep an eye on the time. If I'm not back in twenty minutes, you can come looking for me," and then she was out of the car, and just as quickly around the corner and out of sight.

Harry sat back in his seat, his eyes on the corner around which Ruth had disappeared. He hated waiting. He had just waited two long years for Ruth to return from New York, and here he was, waiting for her all over again.

Still with his eyes trained on the corner, Harry sat back and allowed his mind to meander through the events of the past few hours. He had expected to have to woo Ruth all over again; to carefully and skilfully seduce her. She had been easily as willing as he, and their lovemaking had been passionate and exciting, and he was impatient for them to be doing it again. He longed to again run his palms over her soft skin, especially the skin of her inner thighs. He was sure he still had the taste of her in his mouth, just as he could feel her muscles contracting around him as she came. For a moment he closed his eyes, remembering them together. He felt the surge of blood to his groin, so he opened his eyes, bringing his thoughts back to the present. It had been a long time since his body had responded in that way so soon after having made love.

He smiled into the darkness. His only hope was that what Jane had to give Ruth would not put in danger the life of the woman he loved. Wouldn't that would be the ultimate tragedy?


	8. Chapter 8

_**A/N : Again, this veers into M-territory.**_

* * *

As Ruth sat opposite Jane, she pretended to listen to the older woman as she rattled through the details of the past few hours. She admitted to herself that she was still in that languid, dreamy, post-lovemaking phase where, while her body may have been solidly placed on her chair, her mind was definitely elsewhere. She had wanted their coupling to be fast and physical. She had wanted to place a bold capital letter at the beginning of this new phase of their life together. She and Harry had only ever become close when she was about to leave him, and so when she had grasped him through his trousers, she was sending him a (hopefully) clear message, the gist of which was that this time she was planning to stay with him, and she never again wished to leave him to grieve her loss alone. In hindsight, her action may have shocked him, clouding her true intention. In the end, he had hurried them to the bedroom, but once in bed, he had changed pace.

He had taken his time, bringing her close to the edge before drawing her back. His skill as a lover had not been all that evident on the evening before she'd left London for New York. He'd been weary, while she'd been sad, and so their lovemaking had reflected that. Only just over an hour earlier, Harry had been inside her, moving slowly at first, and then, at her insistence, increasing his depth and speed until they had both tumbled into oblivion. Afterwards, they had reluctantly pulled apart, turning so that Harry could curve his body around her back before he fell asleep, whispering against her hair that he was `completely knackered'. She had lain awake for a while, still stunned by the intensity of their coupling. He had surprised her, but most of all, she had surprised herself with her passionate response.

Ruth's sexual past had been littered with men who were high in intellect, but terrible at relationships. Almost all, with the exception of George, had been rather ordinary between the sheets. Knowing that Harry's relationship past had been messy, she had wondered more than once had he also been a dud in bed. Clearly he was not, and she found herself smiling when she realised that this woman who sat opposite her, freely sharing the gist of her latest phone call to her daughter, who also happened to be Harry's daughter, no doubt knew just how good Harry was in bed. For one mad moment, Ruth considered interrupting Jane to compare notes about Harry. _Did he do that thing with his tongue beneath your ear? Did he_ _hone in on_ _all your sensitive spots_ _like they were lit up in neon lights_ _? Did he go down on_ _you_ _as well?_ Fortunately for them both, Jane interrupted before any of Ruth's thoughts reached her mouth.

"Are you alright, Alison? You look … ill."

"Sorry. I'm just a little tired."

Poor choice of words. Jane lifted one eyebrow, and a smile slowly softened her face. "I didn't interrupt you when I rang, did I? I'm so sorry if I did."

Ruth shook her head and dropped her eyes. "No. We were ..." _cuddling after sex?_ She could hardly finish that particular sentence. Quickly, Ruth pulled herself back to the present, determined to give Jane her full attention.

"Did Harry drive you?"

Ruth nodded. "He's waiting in the car, and I have to say that he's not happy with having to wait."

Having successfully brought herself fully into the present, Ruth noted that for the first time since they'd first met, Jane Middleton had dressed down. She wore minimal makeup, and in place of her usual designer clothing, she wore blue jeans and a shapeless beige jumper, over which she wore a navy blue anorak. Her hair was pulled back with what appeared to be a plain black rubber band. Noting Ruth's scrutiny, Jane smiled. "I needed to blend in," she said, and Ruth understood what she meant.

"You have some information for me?" Ruth said, wanting to be back home, and once more in bed with Harry, a wish she wasn't about to share with Jane.

Jane delved into her brown leather shoulder bag, and from inside one of the side pockets she retrieved a small plastic envelope containing the memory card from a digital camera. "All the information you require to nab Tony is on this."

"You took photographs." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"There's a benefit tonight. It's a Tory party thing. I was expected to attend, but at the last minute I faked a migraine. It's not difficult to do. I just removed all my makeup, and then looked haggard. I then waited an hour, broke into Tony's desk – with the key, of course – and photographed everything which pertained to recent … activities. It's all there."

Ruth took the envelope carrying the memory card, and slipped it into the pocket of her coat. "Are you sure you were not seen?"

"Positive. Everyone mentioned on the invoices and statements accompanied Tony, which is another reason I wasn't keen to attend the benefit."

"Did your husband find your … desire to stay home unusual. Did he appear suspicious?"

"Not at all. My announcement barely registered with him. I'm wondering whether he's having an affair."

Ruth lifted her eyebrows. She had been wondering the same thing. This seemed like as good a time as any to share with Jane what she and Harry had already discussed. "At the risk of offending you, Jane -"

"Offend away, Alison. I've been offended by experts, and in return, have done some rather fine offending of my own."

Ruth didn't doubt that. "Well .. Harry and I were wondering, or more accurately, Harry was wondering have you considered that it may be in your best interests to -"

"- leave my husband?" Ruth nodded. "I've been telling myself to leave for around six months now, but there's always been something which has stopped me. There's always a Tory party fund raiser, or a birthday of someone-or-other, or another trip overseas. If I didn't know better, I'd believe that he plans it all so I can never leave."

"Whether he's having an affair or not, he still requires you on his arm," Ruth pointed out. "You are part of the ... respectable image he needs to maintain." Ruth had seen enough politicians and businessmen keep their wives sweet while keeping a mistress or two on the side. It appeared to be acceptable behaviour … at least, amongst the men.

For a long moment, Jane fell silent. Ruth knew her well enough to know that she was considering whether to share some morsel of information with her. "You know, Alison," Jane said at last, "I have an inkling who the other woman might be. More than an inkling, actually."

Ruth was mildly shocked by Jane's blunt attitude. All she knew was that if Harry ever had an affair, she'd be devastated, as well as angry, and she would never get over it .. ever, which had been one of the many reasons she had been so hesitant about beginning a relationship with him in the first place. "Do you?" she said at last, dying to know the identity of the `other woman'.

"I suspect he's having an affair with Imogen Cole."

Ruth drew her eyebrows together. Imogen Cole? The name meant nothing to her.

"Wife of Dominic, our next Home Secretary."

" _Shit!_ "

"My thoughts exactly," said Jane, nodding, "but I'd prefer to use that more ancient, Anglo-Saxon epithet, because according to all the gossip, that's how the rather gorgeous Mrs Cole intends climbing her way to the top."

Ruth dropped her eyes in an attempt to cover her smile. She had to hand it to Jane. Just then her phone rang, so Ruth quickly answered, already knowing who it was. And it was. "Just wait a sec'," she said, before covering her phone with her hand. "Do you mind if Harry joins us?" she asked.

"Of course not," Jane replied. "The more the merrier."

* * *

Harry had bought a glass of wine for each of Jane and Ruth, and a coffee for himself. When Jane had lifted an eyebrow in his direction, he had said, "I'm driving," and with that, he considered the subject closed.

Ruth had prompted Jane to share with Harry everything she had already shared with her.

"Who has the camera's memory card?" was his first response, and so Jane had quickly told him. "You do realise that I probably can't use your information, Jane," he added, and she had nodded.

"Even if I need to use it as a reason for divorcing him, the risk will have been worth it."

"I'd advise against that," Harry replied, and Ruth found it peculiar that Jane didn't argue with him. It seemed to her that Jane was much more subdued in Harry's presence. Had he been this gruff with her when they were married, and had Jane been this cowed by his presence? Harry certainly knew to take charge when the situation called for it.

The rest of Jane's information tumbled out slowly, and apart from asking a question or two, Harry had not reacted. The truth was that Jane had stumbled upon some very important information which implicated some powerful people, and rather than it being a tool of control, her possession of such information could result in her untimely death. He had seen it happen before, and he didn't wish it upon her.

"Have you decided what you want to do about your marriage?" Harry asked at last.

"Not in the long term, no, but for now, I thought I might spend a few nights in the townhouse my mother left to me."

"Does Tony know you own that property?"

Jane hesitated, because the truth was she didn't know how much Tony knew. "I've never mentioned it to him, and he'd hardly be likely to want his share of it, not with all the property he already owns. I've kept it a secret from him, just in case I need somewhere to hide away for a while."

"Like now," Harry said.

"Yes. Like now."

* * *

Harry offered to drive Jane to Fulham, and so she sat in the back seat of her ex-husband's car, along with her overnight bag, while he and Ruth drove her to her late mother's townhouse. Ruth noted the similarity in design to the house in which she now lived, although it was clearly a more affluent area. The houses in her own street had a tired, run down air to them, many of them having been converted into flats.

Harry helped Jane with her bag, and accompanied her to her front door. Once she was inside, he turned to leave. "Harry," she said, and he turned to face her, irritated that whatever it was she wished to say to him hadn't been raised earlier.

"Yes? What is it?"

"Catherine is in London for around ten days. I suggested she contact you, but if she doesn't, then perhaps ..."

"I'll ring her tomorrow," he said curtly, and then as he has about to leave, he added, "and don't answer the door to anyone. If you suspect anything untoward happening, or if you're afraid for any reason, then call me, and I'll send one of my operatives out to check on you."

Jane wrinkled her nose. "Isn't that a trifle ..?"

"What?"

"Reactive."

"Better that than our daughter being called in to identify your remains," and with that, Harry hurried down the steps to his car, leaving Jane staring after him.

"What do you think?" Ruth asked him, once they had turned out of the street.

"I think she's better off where she is now," Harry replied, "and I suspect Tony is searching for a younger wife. Imogen Cole can't be any older than mid thirties."

"What I mean is," replied Ruth, "you know Jane better than I do, so do you think she's serious about putting distance between her and her husband?"

Harry had pulled up the car at a red light, and Ruth's question elicited a sigh from him. "I have no idea, Ruth. She got shot of me rather quickly back when we were married, but then again, I hadn't provided a life of luxury for her. I suspect she still has a lot of soul searching to do."

And Ruth could detect a tone of weariness in Harry's voice, meaning that he had said all he had to say about his ex-wife for now.

* * *

They were around half way home when Ruth again raised the subject of Jane. She hadn't planned what she said; it just slipped out.

"Harry … do you think it might be a good idea were you to have someone watching Jane's townhouse for the next few days?"

When he didn't immediately answer, Ruth turned to see his mouth set in a firm line as he focused on driving. She was about to rephrase her question, when Harry spoke, his voice careful, his tone steady. "I'd been thinking the same thing, and I'd planned to ring Erin first thing in the morning. I'm thinking two or three of the more junior operatives could do with some surveillance practise." When Ruth remained silent, she felt him glance across at her, before he continued speaking. "Why the interest in Jane's welfare, Ruth?"

"I like her. She's taking a risk, and she deserves to have someone on her side."

"So .." Harry said carefully, so much so that Ruth quickly glanced at him in the dark, "you're ensuring she has the backup I failed to provide when she and I were married?"

"Whatever made you say that?"

"It's how it appears to me."

"I hadn't connected the two, Harry, but that's because I know so little about the circumstances of your break up with her. Besides, it's none of my business. I have no idea why you even thought to say that."

Taking Ruth by surprise, Harry quickly turned off the main road and into a narrow, suburban side street. He slowed the car until he reached a parking space in front of a block of flats. Ruth knew better than to speak. What happened next took her completely by surprise.

Harry turned off the car's ignition, and sat back in his seat; for a long moment he stared ahead of him. Then he unbuckled his seat belt, and leaned across the console towards Ruth. Since turning the car into the street, he hadn't said a word, and so Ruth had no idea what was on his mind. Harry reached out with one hand, and cupped Ruth's cheek. "Undo your seat belt," he said gruffly, and so she did, turning slightly towards him. "I need you to know, Ruth, that it's you I love, and only you. I have loved you for years, and earlier this evening, when we were in bed, was the most wonderful ..." He stopped speaking, then he swallowed, before he reached further, and placed his lips on hers. It was a gentle kiss which lasted for a long time.

Ruth was still confused. "I know you love me," she said, once he'd pulled back from her, his hand still cupping her cheek, while he rubbed his thumb back and forth beneath her bottom lip. "I .. don't know what you're trying to tell me, Harry."

He sat back, dropping his hand from her face, and again he sighed, never once breaking eye contact with her. "Do you love me?"

"You know I do."

"No, Ruth, I don't. You've never spoken the words to me."

"I … I tell you in other ways."

He nodded, as though understanding that sometimes words were not quite as eloquent as actions. "I need you to know that you don't have to .. protect Jane just because I was once married to her.".

"I already know that. I'm not jealous of your marriage to her. I'm not doing this to impress you, or to prove that I bear no animosity towards her."

"I know that."

"Then .. what's this all about?"

"You were so … quiet when we left her in Fulham, and I was afraid that you thought there might still be something between us, that I still have feelings for her."

Ruth put a hand over her mouth to hide her smile. "I was quiet because I'm tired, Harry, as I also imagine are you. We're tired because a couple of hours ago we made love for the first time in two years, and I suspect that we overdid it .. just a bit." Ruth was relieved to see Harry's face relax into a smile. "That's all. Nothing more." and she was prevented from saying any more by Harry kissing her all over again, his hand reaching beneath her jumper so that he could fondle her breast through her bra. She went with it, sliding both arms around his neck to draw his head closer, but after he introduced his tongue to the kiss, she placed her palm firmly on his chest, pushing him away. "I think we should continue this at home."

* * *

Ruth had been worried that she'd have to beg Harry to stay the night with her. She need not have worried. When he turned off the ignition, he turned to her, saying, "Would you be happy were I to stay .. tonight?"

Ruth had nodded. They entered the flat together, Harry heading to the kitchen to finish cleaning up after their dinner, while Ruth took her turn in the bathroom. By the time she'd dressed in lightweight pyjama bottoms and a camisole, Harry had finished in the bathroom, and was in the bedroom changing for bed, having carried his overnight bag inside when they'd arrived home.

Ruth watched while Harry removed his clothes. He was aware of her attention, and even seemed to enjoy it. Once he'd removed his underwear, he stood naked by the bed, searching in his bag for his night wear. "Do you tease all your girlfriends in this way?" she said, gazing at him hungrily. His only reaction was a small smile, before he stepped into a pair of navy blue track pants, and then pulled a light blue t shirt over his head.

Once in bed beside her, Harry rolled towards Ruth and put his arms around her, pulling her closer for a kiss. They kissed carefully, before he pulled away from her, closely watching her face.

"Right now I wish I was twenty years younger," he said quietly.

Ruth knew exactly what he was saying. "Well, I don't," she replied. "I need my sleep; it's important to me."

"As it is to me."

Ruth leaned behind her to turn off the lamp, then she rolled on to her side, her back to Harry. When she felt him shuffle closer, and then slide his arm around her, and she smiled into the dark. "I love you," she said quietly, and this time it was Harry who smiled, as he tightened his arm around her.


	9. Chapter 9

Next morning:

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" Harry said, staring at the ceiling, his heart still thumping against his ribs from the exertion.

"Which is?"

"That we should have waited to be doing this .. that we're doing this before we have everything else sorted."

Ruth's silence worried him, and so he turned his head to see her staring at him, a frown puckering her brow. "How long were you thinking of waiting, because neither of us is getting any younger?"

Harry stared back at her, aware that he had launched them into a strange and potentially dangerous post coital conversation. Seeing the worry in his eyes, Ruth relaxed. "I don't regret what happened the night before I left for the US, and I don't regret last night, or this morning. Why would we need to wait?"

"I was just thinking .."

"What, Harry?"

"I don't want you feeling rushed into this."

So, it's their past .. _her_ past … which had been very slowly seeping through the fissures of their newly found intimacy. "I was … afraid and uncertain back then, Harry. I no longer am."

"Good." And that was that .. until the next time he was rendered insecure about something he may have been doing wrong, or doing at the wrong time. For Harry, the past was an unwelcome relative which kept popping up at their front door, demanding to be allowed entry. But he couldn't let it go. "I don't want you feeling you have to please me, Ruth."

"I don't. I'm too busy trying to figure out how best to please myself." She rolled onto her side, tucking her hand under her cheek. "And being with you, like this, pleases me. I wish I'd figured that out years ago."

And while they hadn't really discussed his fears for them, he needed to let the topic drop. He turned to face her, reaching across to place a soft kiss on her lips, before settling on his side, his head on his own pillow. "You could have met someone in New York."

"But I didn't, and I didn't especially want to."

"Why not?" Harry knew he should drop it and move on, but he couldn't help his curiosity, his fear that Ruth was not quite ready for all that he wanted for them.

"Because I was in love with you, and no man I met even came close."

"So, you met ... people."

"A few, but not many. Most of them were people who lived in my building, and I wasn't interested. None of them could hold a torch to you." Ruth waited a few moments before she continued, determined to get to the bottom of this. "What's this about, Harry?"

The truth was that he wasn't sure. He wanted things to be perfect for her - settled once and for all - so that they'd never again need to be parted. He just needed to know she felt the same way. "You know when last night I said about wanting everything there was to have … together ..?" Ruth nodded. "I meant _everything_."

"I trust you're not talking about threesomes, because I draw the line at that."

Harry found himself chuckling. "Not threesomes, no. I have no intention of sharing you with anyone."

"And nor am I prepared to share you." Ruth waited for a long moment, debating the wisdom of uttering what she was about to utter. "You mean marriage … don't you?" When Harry didn't answer, Ruth wondered had she misread him. She was about to retract her question, when her words were stopped by his honeyed voice.

"That's what I mean, yes. I'm also curious about what you think … of that idea."

Ruth no longer objected to the idea of being married to this man. To her mind, it was something inevitable, but it was little more than a step along the way. She didn't want him to be making a fuss about it. "I'm fine with that," she said at last, and she was sure she felt Harry breathe out in a long sigh. She reached out to grasp his hand, and felt his fingers curl around hers.

"Thank you," he said, squeezing her fingers in his.

Ruth thought she should respond to him having said thank you. Despite knowing why he'd said it, he had no need to thank her. She was grateful for having the good sense to fall in love with a persistently loyal man, despite how confronting she'd once found such loyalty. She was not used to be loved in the way Harry loved her, and when she'd been younger, she'd not trusted that love. It had felt abnormal to her; in her short life, Harry's way of loving her – in a tenacious and enduring way – had been a first for her. Other that George, whose loyalty had come from gratitude rather than love, Harry had held on to his love for her, and even after they'd been parted twice, his love for her was as true as ever. Ruth was not about to throw that back in his face, and so if Harry wanted marriage, then she would be happy to marry him. "Just not too soon," she said at last.

"Of course," he said quietly, "but some time before I turn eighty would be nice."

Which reminded Ruth that Harry's sixtieth birthday was less that two weeks away.

* * *

In early afternoon, Ruth loaded the images from the memory card from Jane's digital camera on to her laptop, and she and Harry sat at the table while she scrolled through them. Mention was made of several shipments of `agricultural components' to Afghanistan and Iraq, while parallel shipments had arrived from the mid-west of US. The contacts were always the same – Grant Cutler, Jeffrey Jenner, and Jurgen Brecht were the only people named. Yusuf Ali was only implied by the initials _YA_ on a shipment to Syria.

"Why would they put their names to these documents?" Ruth asked, once they had gone through them a second time.

"These are Eyes Only documents," Harry replied, "and the eyes are Middleton's. No-one else is meant to have seen them. The fact that he still has hard copies in his office is a sign that he's getting lazy about security, which is another sign that his head is elsewhere."

"An affair," Ruth said quietly, turning her head from the screen to look at Harry.

"I'd say so."

"Is it safe to keep these on my laptop?"

"I don't see why not, Ruth. No-one knows that Jane broke into his office drawer, and even if they did, there's no reason anyone would connect you to Jane."

"I should ring her," Ruth said, closing the lid of the laptop.

Harry wandered through the sliding door to the tiny courtyard to ring Catherine, while Ruth put in a call to Jane.

"Harry and I just went through the images. You did well, Jane. You would have made a formidable spy," she said, with admiration in her voice.

Jane gave a throaty laugh. "God forbid! Imagine how messed up my kids would be had both their parents been working all hours to keep Her Majesty safe? Besides, all three of my husbands have accused me of having a big mouth. I can't keep a secret; I have to tell _someone_."

"Be that as it may, you have a natural talent for espionage."

"I was panicking the whole time. I don't know how Harry and you do it."

"His and my work takes place mostly at a desk these days. It is only the very young and the brave who venture into the field."

"Well, all I can say is that you can keep it. I lost at least five years of my life each time I broke into Tony's desk."

"Speaking of Tony, have your heard from him?"

"Not even a squeak. I messaged him this morning to say I'm heading to the country for a break from London. That was at eight o'clock, and he's not replied. I take that as an indication that he's busy … if you get my drift."

Ruth was rather shocked by Jane's casual attitude to her husband's probable infidelity. "Are you … upset about it?"

"A year ago I would have been. Now … it may be a blessing in disguise. I'm thinking of popping around to the house to pick up some of my things, but ..."

"Perhaps it would be better to wait for a week or so," Ruth suggested.

"You're right, of course."

Ruth spent a moment wondering whether she should tell Jane that her name was Ruth, and not Alison, but perhaps that information would best be saved for another time.

* * *

I hadn't planned to be leaving this early," Harry said, stuffing his belongings into his overnight bag.

"It's all right," Ruth said, picking up and handing him a stray black sock which had found its way under the bed. "Perhaps you should consider leaving a few things here … for when you stay over." Her words stopped Harry in mid-movement, as he stood up and looked at her in that direct way he had.

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course. It's the practical and sensible thing to do. Next time you stay over, perhaps you should bring some casual clothes, underwear, toiletries, and a suit or two." She watched him as he gazed across the bed at her, his expression serious. "It's just that it's probably … safer for you to stay here, than for me to be staying at your house."

Harry was still standing beside his side of the bed, one black sock in his hand, while he absorbed what she'd just said. Watching her closely, he could see no sign that she had said that just to placate him. He nodded. "That would be … sensible, yes," and then he dropped his eyes as he continued packing. "Catherine will be away from Wednesday until just before Christmas, so -"

"I know, and I know it's important for fathers to keep in touch with their daughters." Ruth held his eyes as he glanced up at her. "It's important for you both, and for that reason, it's important to me. I know I'm not the only person you love."

Harry nodded, feeling a lump forming in his throat. "But you are the most important to me."

"Along with your children," Ruth added quickly.

Very slowly, Harry closed his overnight bag, wondering why it was that when heading home, the same amount of clothing he'd brought with him appeared to take up more space in his bag. Again he lifted his eyes. "You don't have to minimise your importance to me, Ruth."

"I'm not. I'm just saying that … I won't be one of those girlfriends who whines on the phone to you that she's not getting enough attention from you. I know you have other people in your life .. other commitments."

"I've not done this – committed myself to someone – for a very long time," he said quietly, both hands resting on the handle of his bag. Ruth noticed that with one forefinger, he was fiddling with the zipper.

"Here I was believing you'd been committed to me for years."

Harry's smile was wide, a spontaneous relaxing of his facial muscles. "You're right, of course, but that commitment took place inside my head, where only I knew about it. This time … eventually the whole world will know."

While he'd been speaking, Ruth had walked around the bed to stand close to him, resting her hand on one of his. "Speaking of the whole world, are you planning to tell Catherine about me?"

Harry had suggested that she accompany him to visit Catherine, but Ruth had declined, stating she had much to do. She didn't, of course, but she didn't want Harry's daughter to learn of her presence in her father's life by her turning up on her doorstep with Harry. "I think I should."

"How will she react?"

"Since she has asked on more than one occasion if I have someone in my life, then I hope she'll be pleased. If she's prepared to listen, I'll tell her a little of our story."

"Our story?"

"Loving you from afar, only one dinner together before you had to leave London … and everything that came after." Harry pursed his lips, pulling them to one side. "It's rather romantic in its own way."

"As are you," Ruth said, standing on tip toe to place her lips on his. Harry responded by sliding both arms around her, and pulling her against him.

"I have to go," he said gruffly, reluctantly withdrawing from her embrace.

"I know you do."

"I'll call you tonight."

* * *

By the time Harry rang, Ruth was in bed with a book. "If I can't have you in my bed," she quipped, "a good book is the next best thing." She heard him sigh, a sign that he was either fed up or tired .. perhaps both.

"I've just had a long and convoluted phone call with Towers. He's busy tomorrow afternoon, so can't see me, but he'll be making time for you at nine."

"I feel honoured."

"Don't be. He's just juggling his appointments for the day."

"Did he say anything I need to know?"

"Yes," Harry said wearily, "but he'd rather tell you himself. I'm on strict orders to say nothing about it to you. He doesn't want me to `unduly influence you'. His words."

"So ..." Ruth began, her mind running ahead of her, "Towers knows we're … together?"

"I don't think so, and if he does, I don't know how it is he found out. All he knows for sure is that we're close friends. I'm not about to keep him up to speed about us. What we do in our private lives is none of his business."

Ruth waited for him to say more, but Harry had fallen silent, and she could hear him breathing on the other end of the phone. "How did it go with Catherine?" she asked at last, since he hadn't offered any information.

"Good .. more than good. She wants to meet you when she gets back to London."

Ruth breathed out her relief. She wasn't quite yet ready to meet Harry's children. She and Harry were still too new, and were in the stage of moulding themselves each around the other, learning everything they could about the other, and how and where they fitted against each other. Ruth knew from past experience that this process could take anything from a few weeks to six months, or even longer. She and Harry needed to navigate this stage without having to expose their newly found togetherness to the scrutiny of family members. It was just too much pressure, and she needed to give herself time to get used to being a permanent fixture in Harry's life.

* * *

Harry was still sitting at the desk in his home office while he spoke to Ruth. He gave her a summary of his two hours with his daughter. She had no need to know everything; just enough to satisfy her curiosity.

Catherine had almost leapt out of her chair when he'd mentioned that he was in the early stages of a relationship with his former intelligence analyst. She'd sat up straight, her eyes shining. "Does Mum know about this?"

"Yes. In fact, your mother met her while they were both in New York."

"On purpose?"

Harry shook his head. "It was a fortunate accident. Ruth rescued your mother from a sandwich shop. As it turns out, they rather like one another."

Catherine had looked stunned by that information. "That's … _weird_."

Harry had grinned at her. "It is rather."

"Tell me all about her. Ruth, that is. I already know enough about Mum."

So Harry had told Catherine how he and Ruth had worked together, and fallen in love slowly over time. He mentioned Ruth's leaving the UK twice, each time to save his job, and Catherine had said, "Oh, that's so _romantic_ ," each time.

"There's something you should know … and remember. Your mother knows Ruth as Alison. It was Ruth's legend while in the US, and we consider it wise to not divulge Ruth's real name until things are sorted out between her and Tony."

"She told me on the phone that she's leaving him. I always knew he was a sleaze."

With those words, Harry had sat up straight. "A sleaze? What do you mean?"

"I suspect he needs his wives to he his own age for .. social reasons, but his preference is for younger women. The first time I met him he couldn't take his eyes from my cleavage. I'm sure Mum noticed, but she's good at pretending, and didn't say a thing."

Harry had sat back and sighed heavily. Yet another reason for Tony Middleton to be taken down. "And you, Catherine. Is there anyone special in your life?"

She had shaken her head. "Right now I'm between lovers, but I'm hopeful. Graham has just broken up with Lucy, so we're both on the prowl."

Harry had smiled. For once, he was the only one in his family to be happily partnered. Oh, the irony. He planned to not gloat.


	10. Chapter 10

Leaving the Home Office building after her appointment with Towers, Ruth stepped onto the pavement and lifted her face to a rare clear sky. She closed her eyes and felt the sun's warmth on her cheeks. London was enjoying a rare sunny day in late October, and she didn't much feel like going back to her flat .. not yet, so she took out her phone and dialled Harry's mobile phone.

"Do you feel like a visit from me?" she asked lightly.

"I always feel like a visit from you."

"Are you busy?"

"No more than usual. Can you come here? I'll warn security. You'll find me on the roof balcony."

And that is where she found him, having bypassed the Grid altogether, by taking the lift to the 6th floor, and then the stairs to the roof. She stood for a moment, enjoying the sight of Harry standing at the parapet, his hands on the railing, gazing across the London skyline, shoulders hunched, the material of his jacket stretched across his broad back. She thought for a moment how she'd like to bottle that image, keeping it with her always, to bring out during those times when she missed him. He must have sensed her presence, as he turned to watch her as she approached him. When she was within touching distance, he reached out to take her hand, drawing her to his side, before kissing her warmly. While she enjoyed the kiss, Ruth pulled away from him, glancing towards the building immediately across the street.

"Someone might be watching," she said, her discomfort clear.

"Then we should give them something worth watching," he replied, stepping close enough to her to repeat the kiss, placing both hands on her hips. "Did you sleep well?"

Looking up at him, and seeing his smile, Ruth placed the palms of both hands on his chest, effectively blocking him from moving any closer. She hadn't slept well at all, but she was not about to share with him how she'd lain in bed, staring at the ceiling, while an inner mantra of `what _have_ I done?' ran in a never-ending loop through her head. She had wanted to be in an intimate relationship with Harry for almost as long as she'd known him, but _wanting_ to be with Harry, and _being with_ Harry in the real world were two entirely different states of existence. While one took place deep inside her, creating a warm and fuzzy feeling which had lulled her to sleep each night for years, the other was real, and immediate, and physical, and so, so powerful, while at the same time having the potential to destroy her completely. Being with Harry in a real relationship, rather than one she'd imagined, could have her experiencing hurt of an intensity she'd not experienced for decades. She had never been comfortable with the strongest of her own emotions; hurt, betrayal, longing, grief had all brought her to her knees. Being with George had been a calming, stabilising experience, while being with Harry could easily open wounds which she had successfully closed, using as bandages all the hope and optimism she could garner.

By the time she'd woken that morning, having eventually fallen asleep from the exhaustion brought about by over-thinking her life, she had felt more settled, and already at home in her flat, and in her place in Harry's life. Her fear of being hurt had been something she'd carried deep inside her for years. It had surfaced when Harry had confessed to her that he'd fathered Elena Gavrik's son, and she had not enjoyed the resultant pain with which that news had left her. In the clear light of a new day, Ruth knew that there was still so much she didn't know about Harry, but what she _did_ know about him was enough for her to maintain the certainty that a life with Harry was something she wanted so much more than the emptiness, and the day to day humdrum of a life spent without him.

"Harry … I'm here for .. serious reasons," she said, managing to keep a straight face. "I wanted to share with you what Towers told me."

Harry turned from her to stand at the balustrade, this time with his hands in his pockets. "Very well," he said, pushing aside his sense of fun.

Ruth stepped closer to Harry's side, turning to look out towards the building across the street, a concrete and glass temple to business. "He's a cunning player," she began.

"Towers?"

"Yes. He began by asking me what I knew about Sir Anthony Middleton's real business activities. Sensing him on a fact-finding mission, I only told him what I'd discovered while I was in the States. I decided to mention none of what Jane has shared with us." Noting Harry's slight nod, she continued. "When I suggested that Middleton should be brought in for questioning, he was quite adamant that this approach would not work, and that one phone call from some officious little parliamentary undersecretary – Towers' words, not mine - would have him walking free, leaving no further options for addressing his activities."

"He told me a similar thing. Apparently there is an alternate plan in place."

"Yes, and he's keeping that particular plan to himself."

"I asked him what would happen were the plan to fail, and he said nothing would happen – he'd still be out of a job."

"So why invest energy in this plan if he's going to be retiring anyway?"

Harry looked down at her, squinting in the sunlight. "My take on it is that perhaps now he's about to retire, his principles are more important to him than his need for public approval."

Ruth nodded. She had surmised the same thing. "He did tell me that the fewer people who know what is planned for Middleton, the more chance there is of success. Whatever the plan is, the surprise factor is fundamental." Ruth grasped Harry's elbow, sliding her fingers around his arm. "Are you upset at being left out of the fun?"

Harry turned to her and lifted one side of his mouth in a familiar gesture. "Only a little. My pride is hurt, but I don't much care how the man is brought down, so long as they put him away."

"Will public humiliation suffice?"

"Almost."

They stood for several minutes, Ruth's hand through Harry's elbow, contemplating the distant skyline. "Did Towers mention your job?" Harry asked at last, curiosity eating away at him.

"He did. My office is being redecorated, but should be ready by the middle of next week. In the meantime, Margot is sending the most recent files through to me electronically, so that I can begin working from home."

"Good."

"I thought so, too. I'm keen to get back to work." Another long silence followed, but this time it was Ruth who broke it. "When can we … see one another again .. privately, that is?"

This time Harry turned to face her, so that Ruth had to drop her hand from his elbow. "I've been thinking the same thing," Harry said quietly. "Tonight is out because there's a night-time operation beginning at 7."

"I hope you're not planning to be in the field," Ruth said quickly.

"No, but two of our newer agents will be in the field with Dimitri and Calum, so I'm staying back to take Erin's place on the Grid. She has a function to attend at Rosie's school. Tomorrow there's a JIC meeting starting at 5 in the afternoon, so that is unlikely to end before 10."

"Come around after the meeting," Ruth said, looking up at Harry hopefully. "Even if I'm asleep, I'd rather know you're in bed with me than on your own at home." When Harry appeared to hesitate, she wondered had she put him in the difficult position of being unable to decline. "If you want to, that is."

"I want to. Thank you. I'll be there, and if I'm really late, I'll try not to wake you."

* * *

By the time Harry crept into the bedroom the following night, it was almost eleven-thirty, and Ruth was already asleep, but only just.

"Do you need the light on?" she asked sleepily, lifting her head from the pillow to gaze at him just as he was preparing to slide under the covers.

"Go back to sleep," Harry said quietly. "We can talk in the morning."

Ruth mumbled something before she turned over and again fell asleep. He slid closer to her, turning towards her, before closing his own eyes. JIC meetings always took so much out of him, mostly from his having to follow lines of debate and enquiry which would make little sense to normal people. Perhaps he was getting too old to be trying to save a world which appeared intent on self-destruction. Very slowly he inched his head closer to Ruth, until his forehead rested against her back. Only then was he able to turn off the incessant voice inside his head which insisted he hadn't done quite enough that day. The voice was always his father's.

* * *

When Ruth awoke she turned to see an empty space in the bed beside her, although the pillow still held the indentation of Harry's head. She hoped he hadn't already left for work. Her unspoken question was answered when Harry knocked lightly on the bedroom door before entering, holding a tray between his hands.

"Cereal, toast and coffee," he said brightly – too brightly for first thing in the morning – before he placed the tray on Ruth's bedside table, then switched on the bedside lamp before handing her her mug of coffee. "Milk with one," he said, before he grabbed the chair from under the window, sliding it close to the bed.

"How can you be this cheerful, when it's only ..." and Ruth checked her bedside clock, "not even six. How can you do this, day after day?" Ruth then drew the mug of coffee close to her so that she could blow across the surface of her drink.

"It's chiefly habit … and having a solid sleep after the most insane JIC meeting yet."

Ruth lifted her eyes to his. Harry appeared fresh, clean shaven, and was dressed ready for work. "Can you talk about it .. to me?"

"Not the specifics, no, but I can tell you that I now know the very people who would probably be backing Tony Middleton all the way. There are certain areas of the security service heavily invested in maintaining the status quo."

"Which includes their well paid jobs."

"Of course … and their fat pensions."

Ruth thought for a moment before she spoke. "And anyone who upsets that status quo is going to be treated like the enemy."

"Exactly, which is why you and I cannot be seen to support bringing down Middleton's core organisation. We have to step back and let happen what will happen." Harry held Ruth's eyes with his familiar stare. "I want a life with you, Ruth, and the emphasis is on `life'."

"You've changed your tune." Ruth carefully placed her coffee on the tray, Exchanging it for the plate of muesli and a spoon.

"Meaning?"

"It wasn't so long ago that you believed your only way forward was the one led by your moral conscience."

Harry grinned his sideways grin, his eyes raking over her upper body, clad only in a loose t-shirt, which served to hide the shape of the body within. "A moral conscience is a fine thing, but it won't give us a long life together. Sometimes the best strategy is to wait."

Ruth watched him closely before speaking. "Do you trust Towers?" she asked carefully.

"As much as I trust any of them -"

"Which isn't a lot."

"He's better than most, but he still has to walk the party line."

"I thought I might ring Jane today," Ruth said, after they had fallen silent. "Is her surveillance team in place?"

Harry nodded. "Three junior agents are working in rotation. The ideal would be for them to be in a house opposite, but none was available. The house next door to Jane's is empty for a couple of months while the owners are away."

"Does Jane know they're there?"

Harry hesitated, all the time watching Ruth closely. "Not yet. I thought maybe ..."

"You want _me_ to do it?" Harry nodded, and Ruth had to suppress that familiar feeling of irritation with Harry. "Why didn't you ask me earlier?"

"Truthfully?" Ruth nodded. "I clean forgot. I've had a lot on."

"Very well," she said. "I guess I can do that. What if she gets mad at me?"

Harry chuckled lightly. "No doubt she will, but for her to know they are there just may serve to make her feel secure." He glanced at Ruth, holding her eyes. "I trust you with the task, Ruth. You seem to know how to talk to her."

"And you don't?"

"Jane and I are divorced, so clearly I don't."

* * *

Ruth and Harry didn't see one another again until late on Friday evening, when Harry brought spare clothes and toiletries to leave at Ruth's flat. Neither were brave enough to mention that they were already taking their first tentative step towards living together. Harry had been tired, so he had retired early, while Ruth continued working on the files sent her by her PA, Margot.

Next morning Ruth woke first, turning to watch Harry's face while he slept. In sleep he appeared at peace, his face unlined, his mouth soft, his forehead smooth. She leaned close to him, wondering whether he'd appreciate being kissed awake, when he shocked her by speaking, his eyes still closed. "Stop it," he said.

"Now you'll be telling me you can see through your eyelids."

Slowly, Harry opened his eyes, smiling as he did so. Ruth had never seen him so relaxed. She leaned down to place her lips on his, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her on top of him. He growled against her mouth, his arms so tight he almost squashed the air out of her. Eventually, Harry relaxed his arms, and Ruth pulled away. "I think I need to visit the bathroom first," he said, lifting an eyebrow.

"First?"

"You know what I mean," he said, sitting up to push the duvet from his body, before he stood to put on his dressing gown and slippers.

She did, of course.

* * *

Harry took his time with her. And Ruth found it excruciating, frustrating, and almost painful. Her body said `now', while her head said, `enjoy this, because we have no idea what the future might bring'. He was very, very good at holding off the moment when he would slide inside her, and Ruth was sure that he hadn't always been so skilled. What thirty-year-old could postpone their pleasure like that? What forty-year-old? Clearly there were advantages to being with a much older man.

Afterwards, Ruth lay sprawled across the bed, sweaty and spent, while Harry fell into a light sleep. Once she could again put more than three words together in a sentence, Ruth knew she ought to make her way to the bathroom for a shower, but she had neither the energy nor the inclination, so she closed her eyes and let her body rest.

When next she opened her eyes, Harry, showered and dressed, stood over her, holding a cup of coffee. "Something to restart your heart," he said, with a glint in his eye.

"You're terrible," Ruth said, sliding up in bed until she could lean back against her pillow.

"I know, but you love me anyway."

"Maybe," and Ruth carefully sipped her coffee, which was made just the way she liked it. Incredible sex, followed by a coffee delivered to her bedside by her lover … what's not to like?

Harry took his own coffee from the bedside table, and sat in the chair which he'd pulled close to her side of the bed. Ruth watched him as he gazed at her over the top of his mug of coffee. "Stop looking so smug," she said at last.

"Me? Smug?"

"You know you are."

"Have you spoken to Jane about the surveillance we have on her mother's house?" he asked quietly, taking the conversation in an entirely different direction.

"I rang her, and since we were both too busy to meet face to face, I had to tell her on the phone."

"Jane was busy? Doing what?"

"She's painting the interior of the house. She said something about getting rid of all the pale colours in favour of some cerise and lime green." Ruth made a face, while Harry smiled. "What's so amusing?" she asked.

"The thought of Jane painting. She has always paid people to do things like that for her."

"I think she's in the process of reinventing herself."

Harry carefully placed his coffee mug back on the bedside table, and sat back in his chair. "So … how did she take the news about the surveillance?"

"Rather well in the end. I had to emphasise that the agents were watching the property, and not her, and that they were there to protect her, rather than to snoop. In the end, I think she liked the idea. She said she hasn't has so much fun since she was a teenager."

Harry made a face, his distaste clear. "So, being married to me wasn't fun," he said sourly. "I'm surprised you're still here, Ruth."

"Don't take it personally. It appears that neither of her other husbands were fun, either. I suspect she's finding living alone liberating."

He still looked sour. "If you ever find me boring, Ruth, please tell me."

"You were hardly boring thirty minutes ago."

Harry's response was to smile widely, and then to stand, lean across, and kiss Ruth soundly. The ring tone of Ruth's mobile only inches from their heads had them springing apart. "The person who invented the phone should be shot," he said, sitting back in his chair, while Ruth grabbed her phone.

"I believe the man is already dead," she said meaningfully, before pressing the screen of her phone, and then answering with an, "Hello?"

Harry watched her while she listened to her caller. He thought he heard a female voice, a voice which sounded like his ex-wife's. In his opinion, Jane and Ruth were becoming far too close. Their friendship, while useful in some ways, was, as Catherine had said, weird.

"Yes, he's right here," Ruth said after a minute or so, lifting her eyes to his. "Do you want to speak to him?"

Harry vigorously shook his head, but Ruth thrust her phone towards him.

"Jane, what is it?" he answered gruffly.

"I have something to tell you, which I hope might come in useful."

"Yes?"

"While I was painting – I'm painting the walls and the woodwork of this house. I can't abide all that white. After all, who wants to live in a hospital?" Harry held back his irritation with her, knowing that to give it expression would only lead to an argument. "While I was busily painting, I remembered something which just might be important. I first met Tony just a little over seven years ago. It was in August of 2006. One night when I was staying over at his house, Tony got a little squiffy, and he started blathering on about his business. Now, you of all people know how I feel about business ..."

Harry did, of course. "I'm growing old here," he said, then immediately wished that he'd kept that thought to himself. He glanced up at Ruth to see her frowning at him.

"You're growing old anyway, Harry," Jane snapped. "Please listen. It won't hurt you to listen to me for a change." The shame he'd managed to successfully suppress since his messy divorce from this woman rolled through him like a wave of nausea. "When Tony told me … what he told me back then … I didn't think anything of it, but in light of what we now know Tony is involved in, it's rather important."

"What was it Tony told you, Jane?" he asked, suppressing his irritation.

"He mentioned two names. One of the names was of someone in the Home Office, while the other was a man who worked within the security service itself."

"And why did he mention them?"

"He mentioned them when telling me he had contacts – he used the term, `eyes and ears' – who were there to report back to him, to inform on his behalf."

"And did he tell you their names?"

"Of course. I wouldn't be speaking to you otherwise."

"And do you remember their names?"

"I do. Do you want me to tell you?"

Does a one-legged duck swim in circles?


	11. Chapter 11

Harry held his tongue while Jane paused; he was sure that her pause was for dramatic effect, something with which he was familiar. A quick glance at Ruth as she sat under the duvet, her knees bent in front of her, told him that he should listen first, and comment afterwards.

"You're barely going to believe this," Jane said, and Harry waited. "I believe that Tony is the one behind Dominic Cole's rise to the top in the Home Office, and the government in general."

"Dominic Cole? But, isn't Tony -"

"Shagging the man's wife? I suspect so." Jane took a breath. "The other man is someone whose name means nothing to me, but you may know him. Avery Fleming. He's somewhere in Mi6 .. or he was. Tony did tell me on that night seven years ago, but I've forgotten. Do you know him?"

"No. The name doesn't ring a bell." Harry hesitated, before he continued, choosing his words carefully. "This information could be critical," he added, knowing that even if it is critical, there was not a lot he could do with it.

"I hope you can do something about this, Harry. I'm sure Tony has no memory at all of having said … what it was he said. I believe that at the time he was trying to impress me. I can remember thinking he was rather sweet when drunk, and not at all violent or frightening. Who knew him to be a blabber mouth?"

Harry suppressed a laugh, and handed Ruth's phone back to her, lifting his eyebrows as he did so.

* * *

Soon after breakfast, Harry headed into Thames House to work, while Ruth continued her own work at home. He hadn't especially wanted to tear himself away from Ruth's side, but while he had quite a lot of paperwork pending, the main reason he was choosing work over Ruth's company was that Caroline Brayshaw was working all weekend, and he needed to speak with her face to face.

Caroline would never respond to Harry dipping his head to her in an unspoken call for her to join him in his office, as he had done with his previous analysts, Ruth included. The first time he'd tried it, she'd marched into his office and declared that if he wanted her to join him, there were new-fangled things called telephones, which, despite being somewhat impersonal, were useful tools of communication between people. While Harry hadn't enjoyed – or appreciated – the dressing down, he knew she had a point.

"Can you spare me fifteen minutes?" he said, once she answered her phone.

"Now?"

"Yes, now."

Despite being madly in love and lust with Ruth, Harry could still appreciate a beautiful woman, and Caroline was beautiful. She could never have been considered pretty, but she possessed an elegance and confidence which he found reminiscent of the younger Jane.

Jane had been unusually confident for one so young. Back then, she'd been quieter, less opinionated, and he had been compulsively drawn to her natural and understated beauty, as well as her enigmatic smile. He had longed to discover what it was she was smiling about. Was it him, or someone else who filled her thoughts? Was there something she knew which no-one else did? He'd desperately wanted to search behind her smile … and anywhere else she would allow him to search. He remembered Jane, once he'd begun spending long periods of time away from home, developing an acerbic tongue, which often tipped into cruel remarks, all of which he matched with his own angry retorts. Her descent into depression was something he was unable to understand, or to deal with, which had resulted in him spending even more time away from home. He still felt uncomfortable in Jane's presence, their many verbal battles still clear in his memory. He wondered had Jane shared any of this with Ruth, and if she had, what Ruth had thought about that. Perhaps he would ask Ruth when he returned to her flat after work. Perhaps not.

Once Caroline had closed his office door behind her, and taken a seat across his desk from him, Harry sat back in his chair. Caroline was a cool customer. She never made small talk, and for that he was grateful. But she was an excellent analyst, and he would be sorry to lose her, which was bound to happen some time soon.

"I have a job for you," Harry said. "Do you know anyone in either Five or Six called Avery Fleming?"

Caroline broke eye contact with him and looked past him to the wall behind him. She was silent only for a few seconds before she again held his gaze. "I haven't, although that doesn't mean very much. Do you wish me to find him? Make contact with him?"

Harry sighed. He'd been hoping that Caroline knew him, and could report that the man had retired. That would have been the best outcome. "Just find him first. I'm told that seven or eight years ago he was working with Six, and prior to that .. I'm not sure."

"I assume you're asking me to put aside my investigation into the Birmingham group?"

"For now, yes. This is potentially more important."

"And you're not about to qualify that."

"Not until you find Fleming, and we can look more closely into his activities."

Caroline waited for Harry to say more, but it appeared he had said all he was going to say. "Is that all?" she asked at last.

"No." Harry leaned forward, resting his forearms on the edge of his desk. "I need you to be discreet with this one."

"Of course. I never engage in chit chat with the others."

Harry nodded. He already knew that, which was why he'd chosen her in the first place. "If you come across any electronic blocks of any kind, you can call on Joe, but see me before you do that. I will need to speak to him myself."

Joe McIntyre was the technical officer who had replaced Tariq Masood, albeit eighteen months after Tariq's tragic death. He was easily as quick and as thorough as Tariq, as well as dedicated.

"Is that all?" Caroline said, and Harry dismissed her with a nod.

* * *

Caroline had only just left his office when he received a call from Calum Reid, who was meant to be having the weekend free.

"Greetings, Boss," he said after Harry answered the phone.

"What can I do for you?" Harry answered, pushing down his mild irritation at Calum's over-familiar greeting. He was fast reaching the conclusion that life was too short to spend it being annoyed with everyone who didn't behave as he would like.

"I had an idea. Just hear me out," Calum said quickly. "I'm currently visiting my older sister and her husband in Birmingham. I thought ..."

"You want to look at the group at the … mosque?"

"I thought I might. You see, there's this bloke who works with Aidan – my brother-in-law – and this guy is Muslim, and attends that mosque. He's invited Aidan to accompany him to the mosque this evening, and I thought .. maybe .. I just might take a look-see."

Harry thought quickly. His instinct was to say no, that it was potentially a dangerous move. On further thought, Calum just might come up with the breakthrough for which they'd been searching now for over a month. "Do your sister and her husband know what you do for a living?"

"Of course not. They think I'm an accountant."

"What if they ask you to check their finances?"

"I did part of an accountancy degree before I swapped to computer science … remember?" Harry did, but it had slipped his mind. "I'm still a magician with a calculator and a spread sheet."

"Good, then go ahead, but unless you uncover something remarkable, I expect you back here Monday morning."

"Right you are, Boss," and Calum ended the call.

Strangely, Harry felt quite relieved about Calum's suggestion. At least it freed Caroline to do some digging on his behalf.

* * *

Harry was preparing to leave the Grid, and head home to Ruth's flat, where she'd promised to cook them a roast dinner. Hearing the sharp rapping of knuckles on wood, he turned to see Caroline standing in the open doorway. He invited her in, beckoning with his hand.

"I've found Avery Fleming," Caroline said, without further preamble. "Do you want to know his full history, or is where he is now sufficient?"

"Just tell me where he is now, and then I'll decide the rest."

Caroline looked down at the A4 sheet on which she'd written her notes. "He's now with Mi5, but strangely, I can't quite pinpoint his exact role or function."

Harry watched her, frowning. "What about his file?"

"Nothing has been added since he joined Five -"

"Which was when ?"

"Mid June of 2012. His office is on the sixth floor, so he's ..."

"- slumming it with the executives." And an extraordinary number of support staff, but that went without saying. Executives were not prone to getting their hands dirty.

"Exactly. I wondered whether ..."

"Go on," Harry said, hoping Caroline had some inspired snippet of thought, something which could explain this person in their midst, this probable fox in the hen house.

"There are a lot of people on the sixth floor." Harry nodded. Didn't he know it? "On the one hand, he could be just a gofer, but I think that's unlikely. He appears to have an office of his own, but no PA, which itself is unusual." Harry suddenly sat back, remembering a similar situation over fifteen years earlier. Bevan Caust. "My conclusion so far, although I've not a lot to go on until I involve Joe in the search, is that this man has been placed there by members of government."

"We all have, Caroline."

"But I suspect that he is reporting back to someone in government – or business – on what we do here." Caroline looked up at Harry, and he was sure he saw a small smile turn her lips ever so slightly. "I'd read about a similar plant in Five in 1998."

"Bevan Caust. He caused quite a stir."

"Yes. I know that this sort of thing can happen on a regular basis, but Caust's case was quite blatant."

"Yes, it was .. as well as embarrassing. I was there."

"So," Caroline continued, recrossing her long legs, "if I'm to investigate this any further, I'm going to need Joe's involvement."

"I'll speak to him."

And with that, he dismissed Caroline, then left his office to stride across to the technology suite, where he quickly brought Joe McIntyre up to speed. "You're to report directly to Caroline," Harry said once he'd finished. "She has everything she could find on this man. You are going to have to tread lightly with this one."

Joe was a man of few words. It was usually his fingers which did the talking. "Right you are," was all he said. Harry was about to leave when he heard Joe cough. He turned, to see the techie's eyes on him. "I'd quite like to bring Raj in with me on this," he said in his usual quiet, no-nonsense voice. "His expertise is hacking into government and business systems -"

"I didn't hear that."

"Be that as it may, this man on the sixth floor may be someone with a similar background to Raj. They say it takes one to know one."

Raj Joshi had been recruited by Mi5 when he'd been discovered hacking into the mainframes of several small banks. It was considered that he'd be of more value inside the security service than outside it. Harry took no more than two seconds to consider, and then nodded at his chief technical officer, a man almost too young to have that particular title. "Just let him know that this is ultra top secret. No-one is to know, not even Erin, Dimitri or Calum."

When Joe again nodded, Harry turned and quickly left the technology suite. He smiled, because that gave him the remainder of the weekend to spend with Ruth. As he strode back across the Grid, for once he cared not a jot whether anyone else noticed the spring in his step.

* * *

Harry was a little ahead of schedule, so he first called into his house, where he showered, shaved, and changed into casual clothes. Although he knew Ruth was planning to cook the evening meal, he thought the occasion called for flowers, so he called into the flower vendor at the market near his home, and bought Ruth a large and showy bunch of flowers, which included carnations and calla lillies, chrysanthemums and gerberas. He also bought a tall vase to hold them, since he was sure Ruth didn't possess one.

Harry was about to use the key she'd given him to open the front door of Ruth's flat, but she beat him to it, opening the door, and then dragging him into the cramped entry hall to wrap her arms around him. Very slowly he pulled himself from her embrace. "These are for you," he said, handing her the flowers. "Oh, and you'll need this as well," he added, thrusting the tall vase into her other hand.

The table was already set for dinner, the aroma of the meal wafting through to the entry hall.

* * *

After dinner, Harry sent Ruth into the living room to put her feet up while he tidied. In an attempt to make room for the roasting pan on the dish drainer, he wiped their dinner plates, then reached up to return them to a shelf in the top cupboard beside the sink. The sudden movement as he reached above and across produced a sharp pain in the same muscle in his back which he'd jarred while taking the stairs to the basement car park at the end of his working day. He stood very still while he very carefully closed the door to the cupboard. Had he injured the muscle in his back while descending the stairs, or had the damage been sustained during sex that morning? Either way, sex would be off the agenda for the evening. He stood very still, breathing slowly and shallowly, his hands grasping the edge of the sink.

Very slowly, Harry straightened his back, placing one hand so that his fingers touched the muscle in question.

"Are you all right?" came Ruth's voice from the doorway. "I've been waiting for you to join me."

Very slowly, Harry turned to face her. "I'm not sure, but I'm not taking any chances. I think I did something to my back."

"Skeletal or muscular?"

"Muscular. I .. I was reaching up to put the plates away ..." and he made a face, hoping Ruth could fill in the rest.

"Let me take a look," and Ruth closed the gap between them, indicating he should turn around. "Where is it?" She poked his back with her fingertips until she hit his sore spot. "I can help you with that," she said quietly, covering the muscle in question with the palm on one hand. "Remove your shirt, loosen your trousers, and lie on your stomach on the sofa, while I turn up the heating."

Harry did as he was told, not because he believed Ruth could help him, but because he needed to try something, and in that moment, she was all he had. Ruth assisted him, placing a cushion under his stomach, and his pillow from the bed beneath his chest and shoulders. Then, using a few drops of massage oil from the bottle she always carried with her, very gently she worked the muscles of his back with her fingers, beginning at his hips, working outwards from his spine, and moving gradually to his shoulders. Beneath her fingers, the muscles of his back felt tight, but after twenty minutes of gentle pressure with her thumbs and fingertips, she felt his whole body loosening, until he was again breathing deeply and steadily.

"You haven't fallen asleep on me, have you?" she asked lightly, as she slowly circled her palms over the width and length of Harry's back.

"Where did you learn to do that?" he mumbled, turning his head to the side so that she could hear him as he spoke.

Ruth hesitated, not sure whether he would want to hear the truth, but given Harry had already mentioned marriage, he'd have to get used to her having had a period of her life during which he hadn't featured. "When I was in Cyprus ..." and on the word, Cyprus, she felt Harry momentarily hold his breath beneath her hands. She sat back, breaking physical contact with him. ".. there was a masseuse who regularly visited the hospital to massage the patients who were bedridden. The old people liked having their feet and hands massaged. Then … when I was ..."

"You can mention George, Ruth. I won't get up and storm off in a huff."

"I know that, and if you did, you'd risk undoing all the work I just did. When George developed a bad back, which was more from the long hours he worked, and the lack of sleep, I … learned how to massage his back, neck and shoulders. It helped him relax and fall asleep."

Watching Harry, she saw his slight nod, as he understood what she was saying. "So, now I'm benefiting from … what you learned."

"I hope so."

"Can I get up now?"

Ruth stood, and stepped away from the sofa. "Perhaps if you just turn over, and see how that feels."

Very carefully, Harry turned over until he was lying on his back. In the process, the cushion under his hips fell to the floor. He lay there a while, and then began to sit up, until he was able to turn and place his feet on the floor. Ruth watched his face all the while for signs of discomfort or pain. "How do you feel now?" she asked, handing him his shirt to put on.

He lifted his eyes to hers and nodded. "There's still a twinge, but it's not painful."

"You need to take it easy for at least twenty-four hours," Ruth replied.

Harry watched her for a long time, until his face relaxed in a smile. "So … no bedroom activity," he said quietly, before dropping his eyes to slide a button of his shirt into its correct buttonhole.

"Other than sleeping, no. You need to give your body time to heal itself." Harry made a face by turning his lips to one side. "We have plenty of time," she continued. "We don't have to behave as though it's our last few weeks on earth."

"We don't know that, Ruth. Nobody can." He watched her for a long moment, before patting the sofa beside him. "Sit next to me," he said. "I'd like you near me."

So Ruth sat next to him, and he leaned back, sighing contentedly as she rested her head against his shoulder before taking his hand in both of hers. "Do you want to watch TV?" she asked. When he shook his head, she said, "A DVD?" and again he shook his head. "So … what do you want, Harry?"

"I have everything I want .. right here, right now, next to me."

He couldn't have said anything more romantic than that. Ruth closed her eyes and hummed to herself. Perhaps being married to Harry wouldn't be so bad after all. Perhaps it could be just the thing she needed. She found it strange that something … someone who had been in front of her all along, had been the very person she'd been seeking all her adult life.


	12. Chapter 12

Next morning:

The silence of early morning was shattered by the shrill ring tone of a mobile phone, but this time it was Harry's phone. "Jesus," he grumbled, "who would want to speak to me before I've even had my first coffee of the day?"

"Or woken up," Ruth added, as she sat up, leaning across Harry to grab his phone and hand it to him.

"I'm not an invalid," he said, turning to acknowledge her. "I can pick up my own phone."

"It would have involved turning and twisting, and -"

"I know. You want me well and active," he added, his expression more smirk than smile. "Yes?" he barked into the phone, after which he listened for several minutes, only responding occasionally, and in monosyllables. Eventually, after he'd listened without responding for around two minutes, he sighed before saying, "Thank you for letting me know. We'll have to keep this under our hats until further notice." and after his caller again responded, he ended the call.

"That was edifying," he said, as he carefully placed his phone on his bedside table. Then, without warning, he reached down to kiss Ruth, who had been watching him the whole time.

"Anything you can tell me?"

"Yes, as it turns out." Harry was already sitting up in bed, Ruth having helped him to place his pillow behind his back. "That was Caroline. She's my senior analyst. She's very good," and seeing the frown on Ruth's face, he added, "although not nearly as good as you, but then, while you were my senior analyst, I was star struck by love."

"And you are no longer?"

"Not where Caroline is concerned, no." Again he turned to face Ruth. "She had a couple of our technical experts look into Avery Fleming." When Ruth frowned again, he added, "one of the names Jane gave us. Raj and Joe – the technical officers – discovered that Fleming has been attempting to gain access to the Grid's systems, but with no success. Raj, who was once a hacker, says that Avery Fleming, were he serious, would be able to get past the firewalls which are in place. Apparently there is a back door which, when breached, sets off alarms, but ..."

"No alarms have been triggered?"

Harry nodded. "However … there is evidence that Fleming has had regular contact with Dominic Cole for at least the past three years. He also has email contact with Tony Middleton and Jurgen Brecht. Joe decided they would be wise to play it safe, and so they have not attempted to decrypt these emails, just in case there is some kind of terminator code attached."

"Mmm," Ruth said, "I wouldn't put it past Middleton and Co. That would also explain why Middleton is getting cocky of late."

"He can see the finish line approaching, and once Dominic Cole is HS, Middleton will be home free."

Ruth sighed heavily. "Perhaps I should ring Jane," she said quietly, knowing that Harry was not comfortable with her having befriended his ex-wife, but to put his mind at ease, she wanted him to know how often and when she and Jane had contact. She looked up to see him frowning at her. "It's all right, Harry. We don't discuss you."

Harry's frown grew deeper. "Not ever?"

"Well … we sometimes have to mention you in passing, but we don't compare notes … or anything."

Harry lifted his eyebrows in surprise. "I should hope not. I can't even begin to imagine how a conversation like that would begin … or end."

"If it ever did ..."

"I trust you'd nip it in the bud."

"Of course. But, I'd be curious, all the same."

"Why?" Harry asked. He wished he hadn't raised the subject. The very idea that Ruth might be curious enough to ask Jane for details about him was worrying. "You can ask me anything you like … about my time with her, and I'll gladly tell you."

"You would?"

Again Harry frowned, a frown so deep that it puckered his forehead. "Why wouldn't I?"

"But you'd be coming from a man's point of view, and we women have a different perspective."

"About what?"

"Almost everything." Ruth could see that Harry was genuinely worried. "But I won't go there, Harry. Jane's own story of her marriage to you is none of my business."

"Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do."

Harry leaned across and kissed her gently, while Ruth told herself that she must never _ever_ ask Jane about her marriage to Harry, even if she and Jane get drunk together, and the conversation veers towards the personal. Silently, Ruth made a pact with herself to never go drinking with Harry's ex-wife. She was sure they'd both be as loose lipped as each other, and once certain subjects were shared, they could never again become unshared.

* * *

In the end, Ruth waited until Monday morning, and after Harry had left for work, before she rang Jane.

"Oh, I am _so_ glad you've rung," Jane had said, with undue emphasis on the word, `so'. "I think the paint fumes are getting to me."

Rather than ask for details about Jane's reaction to paint fumes, Ruth launched directly into her reason for calling. "I have some news for you, and I was thinking that if you'd like to get out of your house for a few hours, we might meet, although it will need to be either today or tomorrow. I begin work at the Home Office on Wednesday."

"Tomorrow – Tuesday," Jane said quickly, "and how about this time we meet in a pub?" Remembering her pact to herself only twenty-four hours earlier, Ruth hesitated. "Or not," continued Jane.

"With work the next day, perhaps something .. like … a ..."

"I know every coffee shop in London," Jane quickly stated, and Ruth knew that the older woman was attempting reassurance, rather than telling the whole truth.

They met next day at Caruso's, a small eatery on a street corner in Hammersmith, so quite close to Jane's mother's townhouse. From the outside, it appeared like the small pub it had once been, while inside it was all copper fittings, wooden beams, and whitewashed walls.

"This is nice," Ruth said, taking a seat opposite Jane, who had chosen a table for two beside the large window which overlooked the street.

"It is, isn't it?" Jane looked around her. "I've taken to coming here every few days, just to get out of the house. It was a boutique pub which hit hard times, so the people who bought it converted it into a tea and coffee house."

"How can a pub possibly hit hard times?"

"It's happening all over London. Small family pubs are being snapped up by big companies, but thankfully, this one was bought by a family. They have fifteen varieties of coffee, twenty-six different teas, and a multitude of muffins. I haven't yet tried them all, but I hope to do so before I die."

"So," said Ruth, smiling at her companion, "not a scone in sight, I see."

"Not even one. They also serve wine, but I've decided to pass on the alcohol. If you can say no to a glass, then so can I."

"Perhaps today can be my treat," Ruth said carefully, knowing she'd in all probably be howled down.

"You know that I inherited rather a lot of money from my mother when she died, and in the years I have left I intend spending as much of it as I can."

"All the same," Ruth said quietly, "I'd like this to be my treat to you. I was paid rather well while working in the US."

"Very well," Jane said at last, dropping her eyes. "You can order for me, then."

Ruth had been dreading Jane suggesting that very thing. "Before I order, is there anything you don't like?" she asked.

"If there is, I haven't yet tried it. I've heard the gluten free muffins are tasty, but who wants to eat healthily when you're at a place like this? I can recommend the almond croissants ... and the blueberry muffins are the best I've ever tasted."

Despite being struck by her own particular brand of paralysis at being presented with too many choices, Ruth ordered an assortment of muffins and croissants, as well as a pot of Himalayan green tea for herself, and a latte for Jane. Privately, Ruth would be glad to get back to working at the Home Office, where she was free to work the whole day, with only the occasional cup of tea and a biscuit to sustain her. In the two weeks since she had arrived home, she had eaten far too much, and taken almost no exercise … other than in the bedroom, of course, but that hardly counted.

"You have some news for me?" Jane asked, once their food and drink had been delivered to their table.

"It's not a lot, really, but I didn't wish to speak about it by phone, just in case."

"Do you think someone might be … listening in?" Jane's eyes widened momentarily.

"It's just a precaution, now that we're getting closer to … the truth." Ruth waited a moment while Jane absorbed the implication of her words. "Harry had some of his team look into Avery Fleming. It's difficult to determine what his job is, although he has an office in Thames House, so he is working from within the security service. It appears .. likely that his main activity is to keep tabs on what happens in Counter Terrorism, although there's no evidence so far that he's been able to break into our systems. On top of that he has contact with Dominic Cole, and … your husband, and other members of his immediate team."

"Team! That's a good word for it. The Team Of Evil Elves."

"Have you heard from Tony?"

"Yes, but it was a brief text, acknowledging my having taken `a holiday to get over the holiday I'd just been on'. His exact words. If he only knew how stressful that holiday had been for me, all the time wondering what he was up to. Of course I need a break from him."

As confident and as out-going as Jane appeared to be, it was becoming apparent to Ruth that the woman was deeply lonely. Perhaps Jane having attached herself to a woman she'd only briefly met while in New York was a sign that she had no-one else in her life whom she could fully trust. Ruth felt a moment of sadness for this kind woman who had once been married to Harry. Clearly, her marriages had not provided Jane with the kind of companionship, even intimacy, which she had needed, and perhaps craved. In contrast, Harry was Ruth's closest friend and confidante, as well as her lover, and for that, she considered herself blessed. Had Harry once been Jane's best friend? If so, she hoped that the fate which Harry's first marriage had met would not be repeated with her. Ruth knew that they would need more than determination, more than commitment, and even more than love, if they were to make it. They would need to face every obstacle together, with honesty and tolerance, which was not going to be easy.

There was a lull in conversation as they each tucked into their muffins. Eventually, it was Jane who broke the silence. "One thing Tony did tell me – by text, of course – is that he's due to be away for another four days from Thursday evening. I thought I might use that time to go back to the house and collect my belongings."

"That's a wise move," Ruth said quietly.

"I thought so, because if the proverbial should ever hit the fan, then I don't want to be caught in the backdraft."

"And if nothing ever comes of what it appears is close to being uncovered?"

Jane smiled across the table at Ruth, her expression so much more cheerful than she must have been feeling inside. "Then I'll still have made the correct decision." Jane continued to maintain eye contact, but Ruth could tell that her thoughts were somewhere else. Eventually, Jane spoke. "Do you know why it's taken me so long to leave a marriage I didn't need to be in, and in which there is next to no shared property?" When Ruth slowly shook her head, Jane continued. "Because I was afraid of what my children would say."

"Your _children_?"

"When Harry and I broke up, my mother said, `I told you so. I told you he'd not be able to remain faithful to you.' Of course, Mother was really talking about my father, who had been a serial adulterer for much of their marriage. My children disapproved of me marrying Martin, because they said he was too old and set in his ways, so when he died, they were hardly upset about it." Jane took a sip of her second cup of coffee, and then continued. "When I told Catherine and Graham about my plans to marry Tony, they both rolled their eyes. My daughter referred to Tony as a jerk, while my son said I'd regret it. Strangely, they were both right."

"It's your life," Ruth said, wondering where that particular sentiment had come from.

"That's what I told them. If I want to mess it up, then isn't that my prerogative?"

Ruth smiled at the older woman, who was fast becoming someone of whom she was rather fond. "It usually is," she said, thinking of the many times she had kept Harry at arm's length, effectively messing up both their lives.

"But look at you," Jane replied. "You have a good job, you're independent, you don't let others tell you what to do, and I'm assuming that Harry is a fixture in your life."

"In one way or the other, I suppose that is all true, but my life hasn't always been as it is now. I've made some terrible decisions in the past, many of them in relation to Harry."

"He's a hard man to like .. and to love," Jane said, and as her eyes darted up to meet Ruth's, Ruth knew that the words had been spoken without any prior editing.

Ruth had finished eating, but had just ordered a fresh pot of tea for herself. To give herself time to compose a reply to Jane's … rather personal comment about Harry, Ruth occupied herself by pouring another cup of tea, and then adding a squeeze of lemon. "I … made a promise to Harry that I wouldn't discuss him with you, and I think, for the sake of my relationship with him, I should respect his wishes."

Jane listened carefully, and then smiled. "Jolly good," she said cheerfully. "You're a much better match for him that I ever was, Alison. I just can't keep my mouth shut for a minute."

"I'm sure that's not true. Look how well you've managed to obtain the information from your husband's desk." Ruth took another sip of her tea, carefully replacing the cup on its saucer. "And about Harry … I _am_ curious about your marriage to him. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't, but I don't think that you and I should talk about him. I'd hate it were he to find an old boyfriend of mine, and pump him for information."

"Good," Jane replied, nodding. "That's good. After all, having Harry in common is something accidental between us. I'd like you even if you had never met him."

Ruth nodded and smiled. She was finding Jane easy to be with, and after her personal life dramas during the previous decade, Jane Middleton was a breath of fresh air. "So, how is the house painting progressing?"

And so, with an exaggerated eye roll, Jane began a very long tale of ladders, colour matching, and paint fumes, and she required nothing more from Ruth than for her to nod occasionally. Jane was a natural story teller, and being with her made Ruth feel happy. She had little idea whether, with the events planned by Towers, she and Jane would continue their friendship, but on this grey, late October day, Ruth didn't much care.

Jane had almost run out of stories about her painting exploits when Ruth's mobile phone rang. She took it from her bag, noted the caller, and looked across at Jane with apology in her eyes. "Go ahead," Jane said, "answer it. I'll buy us each a coffee."

Once Jane was out of ear shot, Ruth answered the call. "Harry?" she said. "Is something wrong?"

"It is and it isn't," he said in his Grid voice. "First things first … are you still with Jane?"

"I am. She's at the counter, buying us a coffee."

"Good. I've had a call from Simon, one of the agents who is watching Jane's mother's house in Fulham. Around twenty minutes ago, two men entered the house. Simon took photographs of them at the front door while they were … picking the lock. He sent the images to me, and I'll send them on to you to show to Jane. When she gets back to the table, could you put her on? She needs to stay at a hotel for tonight while Simon and Jack check the house for listening devices, and once they've done that, I'm having our security firm put in a decent security system for her."

"Very well." Ruth looked up to see Jane pointing towards the ladies loos. "Jane has gone to the ladies, so what was the other thing?"

"If I send a car for you, can you come in to the Grid? I need your expertise. Something has come up."

"Can you give me some idea what this is about?"

"Caroline .. my senior analyst .. has a two day conference at GCHQ, and I know I could call her back here, but you're closer, and .." Harry's voice dropped to just above a whisper, "I haven't seen you since yesterday morning."

"Promise me this isn't just a ruse to see me, Harry."

"Of course not." He was silent for a moment, as though deciding what to say next. "There's been another development, not directly related to security at Jane's home. I can't tell you on the phone."

"Very well," Ruth replied, "but I'll take a taxi. It will be quicker." Just as their coffees arrived, Jane joined Ruth at the table. "Harry has something important to tell you," Ruth added, handing her phone to Jane.

Ruth didn't have time to finish her coffee, but while Jane was occupied listening to Harry, and asking him awkward questions, she took a few careful sips.

"Well," Jane said, handing the phone back to Ruth, "I knew my solitude was too good to be true."

"It will only be for one night, two at the most. The agents will have to check the whole house for bugs. They'll be out of there within an hour or two, but to be on the safe side ..."

"I know. That's what Harry said."

And then Ruth's message tone sounded. She opened her phone to find a picture message from Harry, so she opened the message, and then handed the phone across to Jane. "Do you know these two men?" she asked.

Jane's face registered shock. "Yes. The tall one is Jurgen Brecht, while the stocky one in a suit is one of Tony's security detail." She quickly handed the phone back to Ruth, as though even gazing at images of these men would somehow put her in danger.

"Will you be all right on your own?" Ruth asked. "I'd come with you, but Harry needs me on the Grid."

"I'm fine. There's a nice hotel just a few blocks from here. I'll take a taxi, though … just to be on the safe side."

And so Ruth bid Jane a quick goodbye, and for the first time in two years, headed to central London to work in Section D ... beside Harry.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry stood at a respectful distance while Ruth was greeted by first Calum, then Erin and Dimitri. It was Erin who then introduced her to Joe McIntyre and Raj Joshi, both of whom had little to say once they'd each uttered a quiet `hello'. Ruth found them to be a strange pair. Joe was small and slight, a wiry man with receding sandy-coloured hair, and sharp, intelligent eyes. He could have been aged anywhere from late twenties to early forties. Raj, on the other hand, was tall and thin, with spiky dark hair, and facial stubble, and Ruth surmised he'd yet to turn thirty.

"I believe it's you, Raj, who has stumbled upon something significant."

Raj nodded, and she was afraid he had nothing to say to her in reply, but it was just that he had a habit of measuring his words before he spoke. "This way," he said, standing aside, his arm pointing in the general direction of the technology suite. As he walked beside Ruth, he bent slightly so as to not tower over her. "I found something, and Harry said you'd be able to figure it out. I'd already heard about you from Calum, so ..." and then Raj offered a rare smile, "it's good to meet you at last." By this time, the two of them had reached Raj's desk, where he already had a spare chair placed beside his own. "For you," he said, waiting until Ruth was seated before he sat down.

Ruth looked around, but the diminutive Joe was still speaking with Calum. "I have a general idea of what this is about," she said, "but Harry didn't share the details."

"That's because he doesn't fully understand them, and I respect him for that. I once had a boss who pretended to know what I was doing, when he hadn't a clue, and that hacked me off no end." When Ruth turned to him and smiled, he said, "That's a hackers' joke, although not terribly high on subtlety .. or originality."

"No, it's not." Ruth smiled. She was beginning to like Raj Joshi very much. She sensed a deep humility and sensitivity in him, one which matched her own. She just hoped she could be helpful. "What is my role here, Raj?"

Raj clicked his mouse a few times, until four different windows appeared on his monitor, and he arranged them so that all could be viewed at once. "Joe and I have found the source account for monies which are funding some minor – although potentially major – terrorist activities in the UK. There are accounts within accounts in the Middleton camp, and not all appear to be connected. Whoever set up his account system knows what they're doing. It's rather … labyrinthian in nature. It hurts my head just to think about it." He stopped speaking, and turned to Ruth, gaining eye contact. "My job, as the person who discovered the key connectors between accounts, is to explain it to you, so that you can then explain it to Harry."

Ruth frowned, waiting for the real reason, but that appeared to be it. "Are you serious?"

"Of course. I'm told that that was your job when you were Harry's senior analyst."

"Only partly -"

"And without Caroline being on deck, Harry feels a bit ..."

"Out of his depth?"

"I was going to say that while he's highly skilled at the external spying game, the technical side of it leaves him somewhat … behind the eight ball." Again, Raj paused, all the while watching Ruth. "I need to tell you, because I'm not sure he'd be game to say this to you, but … his ex-wife's potential involvement in this whole set-up, even if unintentional, and by association only, has him on edge. I think he needs you here because you're the only one he totally trusts to tell him the truth." Raj offered a rare smile. "And please don't tell him I said that."

Ruth began to feel a little odd. Why did people feel the need to confide in her? Sometimes the confidences of others were burdensome. She sighed heavily. "Are you aware of … the relationship I have with Harry?"

This time, Raj's smile was much wider, and his dark eyes glistened. "Of course. We all know. Your … devotion to one another is the stuff of legend."

Ruth felt herself blushing. "I'm sure that's overstating things a little."

"Everyone with a heart aspires to one great love in their life, and you and he appear to share that. Were it me, I'd be shouting it from the rooftops, or at the very least, boring all my friends on Facebook and Instagram with images of my love. Alas, no such love exists for me."

"Perhaps not yet."

"Perhaps not ever. I never leave the Grid long enough for me to meet women, and my mum has begun arranging _accidental_ ", and Raj used air quotes around `accidental', "meetings with girls she considers _suitable_." Again Raj air quoted, his long fingers mimicking the antennae of a large insect. "So .. the person I'm closest to is Joe. Some of my friends think I'm gay," Raj grimaced, and then he smiled, "and just being honest, were I to favour men, I couldn't do better than Joe, but … please don't tell Joe I said that."

"Your disclosure is safe with me," Ruth said, suddenly overcome by a strange sense of deja vu. She had a sudden mental image of Malcolm and Colin, their faces close as they worked on some problem or other together. She quickly glanced around the technology suite, half expecting Colin Wells to emerge from behind a bank of monitors. Of course, he couldn't, since he was dead. "Now ... let's get on with it," she said, shaking herself back into the present.

* * *

Much later, Ruth and Harry were alone in his office, while the remainder of the team had either left, or were preparing to leave. "Come back to mine," she said quietly.

Harry was in his usual chair, and he lifted his eyes in surprise. "But you start at the Home Office tomorrow. I thought you'd rather a quiet night."

"I do, but that's not saying I wish to spend it alone. How's your back?" Ruth was sure she saw the beginnings of a smirk around Harry's mouth.

"Much better, thank you, but perhaps still not quite … ready for anything strenuous."

"Harry, your birthday is in three days, so you'd better heal quickly."

"I'm sure we'll think of something, Ruth."

"So, you'll come home to mine .. even if you leave after dinner?"

Harry nodded. "I'd like to stay the night, if that's all right with you."

And it was fine by Ruth.

It was while they were standing at the sink together in her kitchen, with Harry washing while Ruth dried the dishes, that Ruth began to share with him the gist of what Raj Joshi had told her.

"I can't profess to completely understand everything you've told me, Ruth."

"Neither can I, but that is the simplest way I have of explaining it. The most significant piece of information – for me, at least – is the names of two people who belong to a group whose ultimate goal is to bomb the central mosque in Birmingham."

"The account has their name on it?"

"Not exactly, no, but Raj has uncovered the code by which all the target accounts are named. He explained it to me how it was he was able to name the signatories on each target account. I'm prepared to trust him, Harry."

"If I can't trust my staff, then we're all in big trouble." Harry stood back from the sink, and grabbed a hand towel with which to wipe his hands. "So … who are the main people in Birmingham?"

"Egerton and Khalil." Ruth noticed the flash of recognition in Harry's eyes. "What is it?"

"Khalil was the name of the co-worker of Calum's brother-in-law in Birmingham. Aadil Khalil. Do you think that this man .. who works with Calum's brother-in-law … might be one of the people we're looking for?"

"I suspect so, although I don't know ... perhaps Khalil is a common name in Birmingham." Ruth turned to face Harry, who was watching her closely.

"But if it is the same man," he continued, "that would explain his inviting Calum's brother-in-law to visit the mosque. Who would suspect someone so open to giving an Englishman some insight into his religion?"

"Even though he's probably planning to destroy his own mosque .. and everyone in it." Ruth broke eye contact with Harry as she placed the last of the plates in the cupboard. "The other piece of information which Raj assures me is true, is that those who are responsible for domestic terrorism – like Khalil and Egerton – are doing so because of the promise of a healthy payout from Middleton."

Harry nodded. This information did not surprise him at all. "So, not only is Tony Middleton funding terrorism, he's also paying the terrorists for their trouble."

Ruth's nod was barely perceptible. Sometimes the horror of what she and Harry knew was just too much to comprehend. "And the thing which shocks me most about all this," she said quietly, reaching out with one hand to touch Harry's upper arm, "is that Jane married this man, someone who is one of the most vile of men .. a man who pretends to be a benefactor and philanthropist, while he funds the taking of innocent lives, even women, children and the elderly. I hope I never have to meet him face to face."

Harry reached out to her, and she stepped into the circle of his arms. "I think I'd like to stay the night with you," he said, his face pressed close to her hair. "I can drive you to work in the morning."

Ruth's only reply was to nod.

After no longer than a minute, Ruth felt Harry moving out of their embrace. "I need to make a phone call," he said quietly, his mouth still close to her ear, "to Birmingham."

Ruth nodded. Harry was making the right call. Besides, she had a phone call of her own to make. While Harry rang Birmingham, Ruth called Harry's ex-wife. She needn't have worried. Jane had ordered room service, which included a bottle of wine. "Wine is infinitely more reliable than a man," Jane said, and when Ruth didn't answer, she rattled on. "Wine never lies to me, never stays out late, and doesn't pretend to be anything that it is not."

Ruth had no idea what that meant, but she was relieved that Jane was able to make the most of her unscheduled night in a hotel.

* * *

Ruth and Harry had already retired for the night, their bodies warm beneath the duvet, their legs entwined, her head resting in the curve of his arm, while his cheek rested against the top of her head. They were both in a deep sleep when four Mi5 operatives in Birmingham raided the homes of Aadil Khalil and Ian Egerton – two agents to each house.

Khalil had been half expecting to have someone knocking on his door, asking awkward questions. He'd hardly been discreet, but those were his orders: _Don't hide yourself away, as that will put you under suspicion. Be open, and share Islam with all who are interested._ Well, it was all very well for Ian Egerton, who wasn't even Muslim. By the time Khalil was aware that someone was in his house, two men were in his bedroom, and his wife and daughter were screaming.

Not far from the Khalil house, Ian Egerton lived alone, his marriage having broken down the year before. He lived in a run down two up, two down council house, which suited him just fine, a council estate being a natural breeding ground for dissent. It was easy to spread the word that the reason there was so much unemployment was because the Muslims were taking all the best jobs. It wasn't true, of course, but no-one questioned Ian Egerton when he spoke. He possessed a natural air of authority, and people listened to what he had to say, even when everything he said was bullshit through and through.

Unlike Aadil Khalil, Egerton did not go easily and quietly. He slept in jeans, a jumper and trainers, with just a duvet to cover him. When he heard the splintering of the front door being broken, he jumped from his bed, and climbed through his bedroom window to the narrow balcony at the back of his house. He was about to run down the stairs to ground level, when he noticed a man standing at the foot of the stairs. Hearing another man at the window through which he'd escaped, there was only one option open to him. Grasping the railing with both hands, he leapt from the balcony to the grass below. Fifteen years ago, when he was in his mid-twenties, a stunt like that would have jarred his shins, but he'd have recovered in an instant. At forty-two, Egerton was not especially physically fit, so when he hit the ground, he fell awkwardly, and crumbled into a ball of groaning, moaning pain. When the man who had been waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs reached him, all Egerton could say was, "My ankle's broke. I think it's broke."

The Mi5 agent grasped Egerton's arms, and slung him over his shoulders in a fireman's lift. "You'll do nicely just as you are," the agent said.

Just over an hour from the time the four agents had left their Birmingham headquarters – a run down flat with a secure basement – all four were back at the flat, with their targets, one of them a little worse for wear, while the other hadn't said a word.

For the agents, the night had only just begun. Harry Pearce in London would want results .. and soon.

* * *

The silence in the bedroom was shattered by the ringing of Harry's mobile phone. He rolled on to his back and groaned, while he felt Ruth slide further beneath the duvet in search of warmth. "Not again," he said, more to himself than to her, because he knew Ruth hadn't wanted to be woken this early, even with it being her first day at the Home Office in a little over two years. "Erin?" he answered, wondering why she was ringing him at this hour. "How did it go?" Both of them – and even Ruth, who was pretending to be dead – knew what Harry had meant by `it'. _It_ was the planned raid in Birmingham.

"So far, so good," Erin answered, "although Egerton required medical attention."

"Was it serious," Harry asked.

"Not really. Just a broken ankle."

"Any luck so far?"

"Yes, which is why I'm calling you so early. While Khalil has said nothing at all since his detainment, around twenty minutes ago, Egerton began to speak, and Ben Saunders, who was the agent who contacted me, is hopeful that he'll have enough information by morning tea time to hold them both. I thought you should know."

"That's good." Harry was about to say something else to Erin, but when he felt Ruth's hand slide inside his track pants, and then she finger-walked down his stomach until ... all logical thought left him. "Look, I have to go," he said, and then quickly ended the call. "Christ, Ruth. I was trying to have a conversation with my section chief." He reached inside his track pants and grabbed Ruth's hand before she reached her target.

"I was just checking to see if it's all still -"

"Still what? Still there?"

"Still ship shape, and in working order."

Harry turned on his side to face her, his phone still in his right hand. "We'd planned to wait until Friday," he said gently, "and to give my back time to heal."

"I know. I was just feeling a little … left out, what with you giving another woman your attention."

"You will always be my number one woman." He leaned towards her for a kiss, but she placed her palm in front of his mouth.

"How is your back?"

Harry pulled away from her a little, and moved himself from side to side from the waist up. "It seems to be all good."

Ruth nodded, satisfied. "I suppose we should have breakfast."

Harry placed one hand over his mouth to stifle a yawn, and then sat up in bed. "How about I make us a cooked breakfast?" Ruth looked at him, her forehead creased in a frown, so he qualified his statement. "Sausages, eggs and bacon. How does that sound?"

"Like a heart attack on a plate."

"Good, then that's settled."

And it was, and Ruth ate everything on her plate. "I don't know why I'm so hungry, but I am," she said, noting Harry's raised eyebrows, as she wiped the last of the egg yolk from her plate with a half slice of bread.

Ninety minutes later, Harry backed his car out of the driveway beside Ruth's flat, and drove them both to work. "Just imagine," he said, while they were stopped at a set of traffic lights, "were we living together, or married, we could spend every morning together … like this."

"I'd rather spend every morning in bed with you," Ruth replied. Harry thought her to be in an odd mood.

"So would I, but we have to earn our respective livings."

"For how long?"

"You mean for how long will I keep doing this?" When Ruth turned to face him, and nodded, he continued. "I don't know, Ruth, but it can't be for much longer. This Middleton issue has .. affected me more than I'd like, and I don't like the position in which it's placed Jane."

"I know. It bothers me also. Things are no longer as they seem."

"If they ever were," he said quietly, stopping at another red light, and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. "I love you," he added, before taking off as the lights turned green.

"That's some conversation shift," Ruth said, equally as quietly, her eyes on his profile, as he focused his attention on driving.

"Well … I hadn't said it to you today, and I thought it a good idea."

"And I love you," Ruth replied.

The memory of how Harry's face softened in a smile as she spoke those four words, and how his eyes briefly held hers as he shot her a quick glance, stayed with Ruth for the remainder of the day.


	14. Chapter 14

Friday 1st November 2013:

It was Friday afternoon, and Ruth had left her consultation with Caroline Brayshaw in Section D as her last appointment for the day, partly because she'd been dreading meeting with and talking to the amazing Caroline, and partly so that she could accompany Harry to the George after work. Her plan had worked well, except that Harry had been unexpectedly called to the Home Office.

"I'll meet you at the George, Ruth," he'd told her on the phone, once he'd apologised for any inconvenience it may cause. "I've asked Caroline to accompany you to the hotel."

"I don't need accompanying anywhere, Harry," she'd said curtly. "I've managed to navigate my way to pubs on my own before this."

"I'm sure you have, and you've no doubt done it brilliantly."

 _Sarcastic sod!_ For reasons she couldn't quite identify, Ruth was feeling scratchy and irritable. She'd found herself overwhelmed by the sheer volume of work she was having to get through each day, and it was only her third day back. She hadn't even taken the time to contact Jane to find out how she was faring. Harry had told her that six bugs had been removed from Jane's Fulham house, and that a high tech security system had already been installed, and that Jane had been instructed in its use.

Ruth was so drained that she'd had to ask Harry to cancel the dinner they'd planned for after the obligatory drinks at the George. "All I want is to crawl into bed with you," she'd told him. "Besides, I left your birthday gift at home. Perhaps we can buy something on the way home. I don't think I can even cook tonight."

"I can cook something," Harry had offered.

"It's your birthday, so you shouldn't have to do a thing."

Harry had agreed to all she'd suggested, and the more she thought about it, the more she looked forward to a takeaway Indian, and an early night with Harry.

"I imagine you're as disappointed as Harry about the outcome of the Birmingham raids."

Caroline's voice had interrupted Ruth's meandering thoughts. "I am," she replied, lifting her eyes from the reports Caroline had been keeping for the previous three months. Even at a glance, Ruth could see that Caroline's approach to analysis was innovative and individual, and it was easy to see how it was she and Harry worked so well together.

"I'm not sure how much more proof we have to produce to please the suits at the Home Office," Caroline continued.

Ruth hesitated, wondering whether she should share with this woman the deeper reasons for government's reluctance to act, when even the two men who had been detained in Birmingham had been prepared to pay the price for their own planned actions. Ruth really hoped that whatever plan Towers had in place, it was foolproof. If not, the two chief organisers on the ground were now free to carry out Jurgen Brecht's instructions.

* * *

Just as Caroline and Ruth were gathering together their respective possessions in readiness to leave the Grid, Raj appeared in the doorway of the technology suite, his tall, angular frame bent as he leaned one shoulder against the door frame.

"I've just heard from Harry," he said, glancing from Ruth to Caroline, and then back to Ruth. "Firstly, at his request, drinks have been moved from The George to that little pub on the corner .. the one diagonally opposite."

"The Admiral Arms," Ruth said.

"That's the one. He says it's more … sedate, and fitting for a man of his ..."

"Advanced age?" Ruth said, lifting one eyebrow.

Raj smiled a slow and lazy smile. "I believe the words Harry used were, `a man of my status.'"

Ruth's laugh came out as a snort, and looking up at Caroline, she noticed her lifting an eyebrow. How typically Harry was that statement.

"There was something else," Raj added, pulling himself away from the door frame, and loping slowly towards the two women. Before continuing he glanced around the room to see that, apart from three admin staff, the Grid was empty. "He asked me to pass on something else, something he suspected, but needed me to check." By this time he was standing quite close to both women, towering over them both. "It's about Avery Fleming. Harry suspected that Fleming has been getting much of his information from the JIC meetings. I … I have a … contact on the sixth floor – Adam Randall. I know him through my sister … long story. He is generally the one whose job it is to file the minutes of the JIC meetings. The minutes are held digitally, but in case of digital failure, hard copies also need to be kept .. in a secure safe on the sixth floor. Adam thought to check the codes of all who had accessed the hard copies during the previous month. Among those who had accessed them were the usual … members of the JIC. But there was one other code there, showing that someone had accessed the hard copies the day after the last meeting. The code was one he didn't know, so he asked me to do some … investigating. I found that the code belongs to Avery Fleming."

"So that's how he knows what he knows, and passes that information to Anthony Middleton," Ruth breathed, wondering why she hadn't thought to make that same connection. Well … the reason was easy to see. She'd been preoccupied with Harry.

"And to Dominic Cole, it seems," Raj added, leaning back and folding his arms. Again, Raj looked from Ruth, to Caroline, and then back to Ruth.

"At least, now we know from where the information is being leaked," Ruth said. Which was all very well, but she didn't know whether Harry would be able to act on this information.

"I'll speak to Harry," Caroline said quickly, immediately relieving Ruth of the need to be the one to inform Harry, who would only remind her that his hands were tied.

"I have another message from Harry," Raj said, and Ruth could see he was reluctant to be delivering what was coming. "He has asked me to accompany you both to the pub."

Ruth noticed Caroline again lift her eyebrows, while Ruth herself felt that familiar, automatic reaction of resistance. "Fine," she said quickly, "whatever makes Harry happy."

Raj smiled his slow, lazy smile. "It's the man's birthday, after all. I figured the least we can do is to do whatever makes him happy."

"Shall we go?" Caroline suggested, this time with a smile. "I feel I've earned a drink. I can hear the vodka calling to me."

* * *

Raj was the perfect security measure, tall and imposing, although Ruth was sure that a strong gust of wind could blow him over. He walked on the side of the pavement closest to the street, keeping his eyes both on the street, and on both women. The Admiral was only a fifteen minute walk, and tired or not, Ruth was happy for the opportunity to be taking some exercise in the cold evening air. She lifted her eyes to where cloud cover appeared lower and darker than usual, and silently hoped they'd make it to the pub before it rained.

They were less than thirty metres from the front door of The Admiral when Ruth felt a few drops of rain on her head. By the time Raj opened the door for Caroline and her to enter ahead of him, the heavens had opened.

"How's that for timing?" Raj asked, once they were safely inside. Ruth smiled into his eyes. She was about to say, `Better than your boss's', but left the words unspoken. The more time she spent with Raj Joshi, the more she liked him.

The pub was cosy and inviting, like warm arms reaching out to draw them in. Across the room they both noticed Harry and Dimitri standing to move the chairs so that Ruth could sit next to Harry. For a brief moment, Ruth wondered should she sit somewhere other than beside Harry. Perhaps she could pretend that she and Harry were nothing more than close friends.

In the end, the decision was made for her. Raj and Caroline headed for the other side of the table, while Harry began to approach Ruth. He stepped towards her, reaching out to take her hand in his, drawing her closer to him, then he leaned down to kiss her on the lips. While his lips were soft and inviting, and Ruth could taste the whiskey he'd been drinking, she felt herself leaning a little away from him, but then gave in to her need to kiss him back. After all, it had been two and a half days since they'd last seen one another, which, while not two years, was still a long time.

"Happy birthday," she said quietly, so that only Harry could hear her. Then she reached up to kiss him again. When at last she opened her eyes, it was to see Harry beaming at her, clearly pleased that she'd taken that risk. All in all, Ruth was happy that she'd gone along with the kiss. How foolish it would have been to pull away, on the off chance that members of Harry's team might be watching.

Harry then turned towards the table, his hand still grasping hers, while with his other hand, he drew out a chair for her … next to his own. Ruth glanced around the table, and seeing the eyes of most of Harry's team focused upon Raj and Caroline, she let out the breath she hadn't even known she'd been holding.

The next two hours flew by. Ruth took the opportunity to speak individually to Erin, Calum, Dimitri, and even the very quiet Joe, who she discovered was highly intelligent, as well as quietly entertaining. She was still sitting in a huddle with Joe and Raj, when she felt a warm hand on her back, and then Harry's voice close to her ear. "I thought we might head home," he said quietly, and she nodded, turning to look up into those familiar eyes.

"How has today been for you?" Ruth asked, once they were a little over half way home. They had driven in near silence; Harry, because he had had a long and stressful week, and Ruth because she was still stunned into silence by how easy it had been for them to be openly together while in the presence of his colleagues. She contemplated the foolishness of her years-long denial of Harry, eventually concluding that what was done could not be undone, so any embarrassment or guilt she still harboured about the years during which she'd actively turned away from Harry needed to be left in the past.

"From the moment you walked into the pub," he said quietly, "today has been wonderful. Before that, it was less than stellar, so I suggest that for the remainder of this evening, all talk of work needs to be off limits."

"Good," Ruth said, "about work being off limits, not that today was bad for you."

"Not bad exactly .. just a lot of unexpected things to deal with between my usual duties."

Harry dropped Ruth off at her flat so that she could shower and change, and he could go out to buy a takeaway meal from the nearby Indian restaurant. By the time he returned, Ruth was showered and dressed, so it was his turn in the shower.

By the time they both sat at the table and began their meal, it had just gone nine-thirty. Ruth was still tired, but she felt inexplicably happy. "I'm glad that you … kissed me," she said at last, after having taken a sip of the white wine Harry had brought home with their meal.

"Which kiss?" he asked, lifting his eyes to hers. Of course, Harry knew very well which kiss Ruth was talking about. He needed her to tell him, and to include reasons.

"When you met me as I arrived at the hotel .. tonight."

When she said nothing more, he felt the need to provide a prompt. "And?" he said.

Ruth sat back, suddenly feeling exposed and raw, her rib cage clawed open to reveal her beating heart. It had been less than two weeks since she'd first told him she loved him. She was not used to opening herself to another, even if the other was Harry. "I'd been hoping we could just ..."

"Act like friends?"

Ruth nodded. "But when you kissed me, then … it would have been difficult to go back to being who we'd been … a little over two years ago."

"Although we'd hardly been `just friends' back then, Ruth. We were far more than that … even then."

"I was worried about how the others would react to us … being this … close."

"Oh, I think they're more relieved than anything else." Harry looked up from where he'd been pushing all the meat into one pile, and the vegetables into another. "Erin, Dimitri and Calum knew we were … something to one another, perhaps even before we'd acknowledged it to ourselves. As for Caroline, she twigged as soon as I announced to everyone that you were coming home. She said it was because I'd smiled while making the announcement. As for Joe and Raj … they're not interested in what we older people get up to."

"We … _older_ people? Surely I'm not much older than Joe."

"Joe is thirty-three – ten years younger than you, and twenty-seven years younger than me. Whichever way you look at it, that makes us older. You and me, Ruth, are both older than anyone else at our table tonight. Calum and Caroline are both thirty-nine."

"You've made your point, Harry. We're ancient."

"No, Ruth. We're old enough to go public about our relationship, without having to offer explanations or excuses."

Ruth nodded, watching Harry attempting to coral his curried lamb cubes, armed with only a fork. "I have a cake for you, and a gift, so you'd better finish your meal."

Once Harry had finished his curry, he took their plates to the sink, scraped the dregs into the bin, and rinsed them under the tap, while Ruth took the cake from the fridge, and Harry's card and gift from the back of the cutlery drawer. Harry carried the cake back to the table, while Ruth followed him, the birthday card hidden behind her back.

"Do you want me to sing to you?" she asked, as Harry reached out to scrape some cream from the side of the cake with the tip of his finger.

"I think we should just eat it," he said, smiling across the table at her.

So Ruth cut two slices of the cake, deliberately giving Harry the piece with the word, `Happy' piped in icing, while she cut herself a much smaller piece. "Here's to sixty more," she said, glancing up at Harry.

"Only if you promise to be with me for those sixty years, Ruth. I'll not be interested in spending them without you."

Ruth had a peculiar approach to gifts, and gift giving. She loved receiving them, but always felt embarrassed and undeserving of them. Equally, she loved giving them to those she loved, but was afraid that the gift would not be well received. Now was one such time. Waiting until they had both almost finished eating their cake, she took the envelope from behind her on the chair, and slid it across the table towards Harry, with the words, "I should give you this … before it's no longer your birthday."

Harry sat still, his eyes on the envelope. "Should I open it?" he asked.

"I'd suggest you do that. There's a card in there, along with a gift from me to you."

"But I already told you to not buy me anything."

"I … ignored that particular order," Ruth replied cheekily.

"No change there then," Harry said, reaching across to take the card, and then turning it over several times. On the front of the envelope was written one word: _Harry_.

"Open it," Ruth said, impatient for the whole gift-giving and receiving to be over.

Harry took his time opening the card, and he allowed a smaller envelope to fall to the table while he read what Ruth had written inside:

 _Dear Harry_

 _Thank you for persisting with me, and for continuing to love me, even through our long years apart. I'm sure there were times when I wasn't especially loveable. I only hope that my love for you is as true as your love is for me. Happy birthday._

 _Your Ruth xx_

Ruth watched his face, worried when he had had ample time to read the card, and had still not said anything. Eventually he looked up, and she was sure she saw tears in his eyes. "You've always been loveable, Ruth," he said quietly. "It's me who is lucky to be loved by someone as amazing as you."

Ruth, feeling her composure slipping, rose from her chair, and hurried around the table to Harry's side, where she put her arm around his shoulders, and her fingers on his chin, her thumb caressing his cheek. He turned in his chair, so that he could slide both arms around her. They didn't kiss, and neither spoke. They just looked at one another, each almost overwhelmed by the occasion.

It was Ruth who broke eye contact first, pulling away from him a little, sitting in the chair beside Harry's. "The gift, Harry. You don't know what it is."

He turned from her, and picked up the small envelope. "I know that these are tickets," he said, sliding out the two tickets from the envelope, his eyes on Ruth, "and I also suspect they are not for the cricket, given there are two tickets, and watching cricket is not something you would want to spend a day doing, even with the added attraction of my company." Harry then looked down, and turned the tickets so that he could read them. " _Rigoletto_. Ruth, how did you know I'd like these?"

Ruth was suddenly shy, dropping her eyes from his gaze. When she again looked up, he was still watching her. "I remember you saying so … oh … back when Adam and Fiona were still … with us. You said that you can never see _Rigoletto_ enough times. The tickets are for February, but I think Verdi is worth waiting for."

Harry nodded, his eyes still holding hers. "I agree. This gives us something more to look forward to. Thank you, Ruth. It's a beautiful and thoughtful gift."

Ruth leaned in to kiss him, a quick kiss on his lips. "I don't know about you," she said, "but I could do with an early night." Seeing Harry's lifted eyebrows, and the half-smile turning his lips, she qualified her statement. "I know you're probably expecting something more for your birthday, but you're going to have to wait until tomorrow for that. I'm exhausted."

"Were I an unrefined man," he said, "I'd suggest you just lie there, and let me do all the work, but I'm not that kind of man."

"And for that I'm grateful," Ruth replied, getting up from the chair.

By the time Harry returned to the bedroom after having performed his bathroom pre-bedtime rituals, he found that Ruth had been telling the truth. She was already fast asleep. He reached across to kiss her cheek, then he turned out the light, and slid under the duvet, and turned over so that he could see the shape of Ruth beneath the duvet. He considered himself a very lucky man.


	15. Chapter 15

_**A/N : M-ish warning.**_

* * *

Ruth slept long past her normal waking time, and when she opened her eyes, it was to (again) see the bed empty beside her. Feeling a kernel of irritation rising from deep in her gut, she lifted her head from the pillow, and looked around the room. Even with the blind down and the curtains closed, the room was light enough for her to make out the furniture around her, and that the room was Harryless. Were they ever to wake up together, kiss and cuddle, and maybe more … like any normal couple?

That was the nub of the matter. Harry and she were not a normal couple. They each had stressful and demanding jobs, and Harry's job, especially, did not remain at Thames House when he came home. Like a heavy morning fog, it seemed to follow him everywhere, even while he slept. Ruth lay back against her pillow and sighed. She had already made an emotional investment in joining her life with Harry's. It would be the physical, practical details which could quite easily break them apart all over again, and she didn't want that to happen any more than did he. Ruth and Harry were each loners – people who were content in their own company, and often resentful of the intrusion of others. For them to work effectively as a couple long term would require a high level of compromise, as well as tolerance and understanding from them both.

Hearing the crash of something metallic against the metal top of the sink, followed by Harry uttering an expletive, Ruth smiled. He was making her breakfast. As pleasant as George had been to live with, he had only ever made her breakfast on one occasion, and then he had managed to burn the toast, and add too much milk to her coffee, rendering it almost undrinkable. For a moment, she remembered how she had drunk the coffee with a smile, and said nothing about the toast. If she could do that with George, then surely she could be equally as tolerant of Harry.

Only minutes later, Ruth heard a knock on the bedroom door, and she turned her head to see Harry, dressed in little other than dressing gown and slippers, juggling a tray with one hand. "For you, my love," he said theatrically, carrying the tray to her side of the bed.

He had outdone himself this time. Not only had he made her coffee exactly the way she liked it, he had made a bowl of scrambled eggs, the toast was the colour of honey, with only a scraping of butter, and to top it off, he had snipped off a flower from the bunch he'd given her the weekend before, placing it in a drinking glass with a little water. The flower was perhaps past its best, but it was the thought that counted. Ruth was stunned into a rare silence.

"Say something, Ruth," Harry said carefully, and she could detect fear in his voice.

"This is … just about perfect," she said at last, smiling into his eyes. Holding her bowl of scrambled eggs steady with one hand, she reached up with the other, sliding it around Harry's neck, pulling him close enough for a quick kiss, which quickly turned into a regular snog.

Harry pulled away first, and Ruth could read in his eyes the fear of how she would react when he told her ... what he was about to tell her. "You're heading in to work … aren't you?" she said.

They had talked of spending the whole weekend together, just the two of them. It was Harry's 60th birthday weekend, and they had planned to have dinner out – which had been postponed to Saturday night – and just laze around together, talking, making love, going for walks, should weather permit, and perhaps checking the closest shopping centre, since Ruth had mentioned needing some cushions and throws for the living room furniture. The weekend was meant to be spontaneous, with no interruptions. They had hoped that home could be a work-free zone.

Ruth watched Harry's face while he thought about how best to answer her. "Spit it out," she said at last. "While you're concocting your answer, I'm thinking the worst."

Harry sighed, sitting back, moving a little way from her, but still perched on the edge of the bed. He pulled his dressing gown more tightly around him, adjusting the ties. Ruth saw that as a bad sign. "I received a text from Caroline," he said at last. When Ruth lifted her eyebrows, he continued. "I didn't want to wake you, so I left the bed to ring her from the kitchen. She had an early call from someone who wants to meet with me … today … at five o'clock."

"Not Sir Anthony Middleton, I hope."

"No, but you're close. The caller was Imogen Cole, and she said she needed to speak with me, and no-one else, and she needs to see me alone."

Ruth took a moment to let the information sink in. Her first thought was a silly one; she hoped Imogen wasn't planning to seduce Harry. Surely one middle-aged man at a time was enough for the voracious Imogen. She shook her head a little, and then looked up into her lover's eyes, feeling the heat of a blush on her cheeks.

"I don't think she's after my body, Ruth," Harry said quietly, a hint of playfulness in his voice. "Besides, she's only interested in men of wealth and power."

"You have quite enough wealth and power to satisfy me," Ruth said, dropping her eyes.

"Thank you. I aim to satisfy .. you."

Ruth was about to start eating her scrambled eggs, but the heat in her body was too much of a distraction. "Damn you, Harry." She lifted the tray and handed it to Harry, who carefully placed it on the floor, away from the bed. All the time, Ruth watched him, enjoying how his body moved, along with the glimpses of bare chest through the opening in his dressing gown. "I guess breakfast is over," she said, as he was about to lean towards her for a kiss.

"Mmm," was all he had to say, before he leaned down to kiss her, at the same time as he lowered his body over her own, taking his weight on his elbows and knees.

Ruth could only go with him, pushing her hands inside his dressing gown, and running them over his shoulders and chest, her fingers feathering across his bare skin, eliciting a shudder from him. While his lips sought the skin of her neck and shoulders, her hands found their way down his back to his buttocks, where she slowly squeezed his flesh, enjoying the feel of the muscles beneath.

By the time they were both naked and together under the duvet, Ruth's desire for him to be inside her had rendered her dazed and desperate. " _Now_ ," she said forcefully, pushing her hips towards his, but he pulled back from her, while with the fingers of one hand he played with one of her nipples. "You're a right bastard," she said, just before he slid inside her, smiling into her eyes. He moved slowly and deliberately, lifting himself above her, watching her face closely, before he plunged back inside her, pinning her to the bed.

"I know," he said, and then began the rhythm which Ruth already knew would have her biting his shoulder to suppress her cries.

Ruth couldn't have asked for more from a lover of any age, but for a man of sixty, Harry was a surprise in bed. She'd been waiting for him to stop trying to impress her, and for sex to become routine, but that hadn't happened, and she doubted it would. Harry was a proud man, and he wanted to please her, to thrill her. She knew he wouldn't be able to keep up the pace forever, so she had already made a decision to give in to him, and to allow herself to enjoy him … while he was still able.

Afterwards Harry fell into a light doze, so Ruth disentangled herself from his arms and legs, and took the tray of cold coffee and eggs to the kitchen, where she made herself a fresh coffee and two slices of toast. She had worked up an appetite.

* * *

They walked to the shopping centre closest to Ruth's flat, holding hands all the way. Ruth wondered how they appeared to other people they passed on the street. Most people they came across either nodded and smiled, sometimes saying a quick `hello', while others ignored them completely. Clearly, they were not in any way remarkable or unusual to those in the world around them. They were just a middle-aged couple, taking in some air while they walked to the shops. Ruth smiled to herself, and seeing her smiling, Harry squeezed her hand.

"I hope that's a smile of happiness," he said.

"Of course," she replied. And it was.

At a little after two o'clock, Harry left for the Grid. Ruth hid her anxiety from him, or at least, she thought she did.

"I'll be fine," he said, as they stood at the front door together, with barely a hair's breadth between them. "Were she planning something with Middleton, she'd be doing it covertly, and without warning."

"So … you think she has information for you?" Ruth was incredulous. It was not in Harry's nature to display this level of optimism. Was it the sex earlier in the day? Was it her? Perhaps it was the state of being in love. Harry was certainly becoming a different man, a happier and more open man.

"I suspect so. To be truthful, I'm looking forward to meeting her. She intrigues me."

"So long as you're not _too_ intrigued."

Harry leaned down to kiss Ruth once more. "How can I be … when I have you?"

And then he was gone.

Ruth thought it was about time she gave Jane Middleton a call.

* * *

"I'm turning over so many new leaves, you'll not recognise me when next we meet," Jane gushed over the phone. All Ruth had to do was wait, and she knew Jane would have more to tell her, and she did. "I'm changing my name back to Townsend, which is the name I was born with. I took it after my divorce from Harry, and even kept it throughout my marriage to Martin, which irked him no end. Then, when I hooked up with Tony, I thought I should join forces with him in every way. Besides, he insisted. I should have seen that as a sign."

"A sign?" Ruth said.

"Of a controlling nature. At first, I thought Tony to be a real man – masterful, determined, always with a plan, always with a project he was working on. But I was wrong. Should I ever find another partner, and I have no plans at this stage, then I might try the hippie type. You know, someone with a surf board strapped to the top of their SUV."

Ruth had to stifle a laugh. Was she serious? "I .. can't see that, Jane. Do you surf? Do you like the ocean? Camping?"

"Of course not. Who does? The ocean is so .. wet. I suppose I was just trying out ideas, seeing my previous approach hasn't worked well for me. I know I'd not take well to the wandering lifestyle. I like to have a home to return to at the end of the day, and I insist on having hot and cold running water, central heating, and Wifi. I'm a creature who likes her creature comforts."

"Have you had any further contact from Tony .. or his … people?"

"None that I know of. The new security system is quite complicated, but I know I need it, so I persist with it." Jane hesitated before she continued. "Tomorrow," she said, dropping her voice to a lower register, "I am going back to Tony's house to get the rest of my things. While I was staying at that hotel, to reward myself for my bravery, I bought myself my own little four wheel drive vehicle. Anything which doesn't fit inside it will just have to stay there. Besides, there's not a lot I want to bring back here. I'm a different person now. I'm ..."

"What are you, Jane?"

"I'm less trusting of what people say, and more aware of the nuances which exist between people. I'm putting myself first. I know that in my past I've put the man in my life first, and then resented him when he began to expect that he always be number one."

Ruth found it remarkable that it had taken Jane fifty-nine years to figure that out.

* * *

After a brief meeting with Raj and Caroline, Harry left the Grid with ample time to get to his meeting with Imogen. He drove slowly towards the meeting place, his mind still occupied with thoughts of Ruth. He knew that in the following thirty minutes he would need to block out memories of their last couple of weeks together, but for the moment, he was allowing himself the indulgence of thinking only of her.

Were he being absolutely honest with himself, Harry had come to expect Ruth's rejection. It had become one of those certainties, like the sun rising in the morning, or a slice of toast falling on the floor butter-side down. Whenever he'd taken one step towards her, she had moved at least three steps away from him, always with eyes cast down, remaining at a safe distance from him, far enough away that he could not touch her, even had he tried.

Since she'd returned to London, Ruth had surprised him, and every day, she surprised him further. Before she'd left for New York, she was sad, and quiet, and shut down. He had been thrilled by her asking him to stay on her last night before she'd left London. He hadn't expected it, hadn't even considered it possible, so when it had happened, he'd hoped that he wouldn't disappoint her. He knew he'd not be disappointed in her. Since her return to the UK less than three weeks earlier, her willingness to meet him half way had left him almost breathless; he was feeling young again, and full with hope of a possible future together. With Ruth, nothing was ever a given. She was as capricious as he was steady, as uncertain as he was sure, but he planned to hang in there. Any other option was unthinkable.

He had found Ruth to be loving, attentive, sexy, occasionally funny, and sometimes easy to anger, as she always had been. Most of all, Ruth was passionate, and thoughts of her body entered his mind at the most inopportune times, obsessing him in a way that he feared may not always be good for him. On this day he needed to concentrate, to be present and aware, with eyes and ears on full alert.

As he drew his car into a parking space around eighty metres from the place where he was to meet Imogen Cole, Harry emptied his head of all thoughts of Ruth. He knew she'd be waiting for him when he returned to her flat after the meeting. The certainty of that left him smiling into the car's dark interior.

* * *

Ahead of him, beside a chest high brick wall which bordered the Thames, his attention was drawn to the slender figure of a woman. It was getting dark, so she stood beneath a street light, her bright red parka making her visible from every angle of approach. Harry thought she was taking a risk. Punters would be cruising the area looking for sex workers. As he drew closer to her, he could see that her clothing was expensive, and her makeup subtle. He put his head down and hurried towards her, while she watched his approach, occasionally lifting her hand to push her long blond hair from her face.

"Imogen?" he said, once he'd reached her. When she nodded, he looked around them, searching for a quiet place, somewhere out of the wind. "Can we -" he began.

"We can sit inside that bus shelter," she said, nodding to the shelter only twenty metres away.

Harry followed her, his eyes darting around them. There was no-one around. Twilight had already fallen, and decent people would be inside having their tea. Once they sat down, she took out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Harry.

When he shook his head, she lit one for herself, turning away from him to exhale the first lungful of smoke.

"Sorry I haven't asked you for permission to smoke. Even were you to object, I'd light up anyway. It's my one and only vice."

Knowing some of her history, Harry doubted that, but he needed to observe, rather than stand in judgement of her. He waited until she'd turned towards him before he examined the face of the woman who had turned Tony Middleton's head. He knew her to be in her late thirties – perhaps thirty-six or seven – but her face had seen more than most women of her age. She had a mature quality to her, as though she had seen more than had he, although he doubted that was true. Few people had seen more of life's underbelly than he had.

"I know you must be wondering why I want to speak with you." Harry nodded, so she continued. He noticed her right knee jiggling, as she rested her hand on it, her cigarette dangling from between her first two fingers. Her voice was in the lower registers, the voice of a much older woman. "Both my husband and Tony Middleton are away for a few days, so I had to act quickly. I needed to speak with you in particular. I know that your first wife is now married to Tony, and I know that there's the risk that she'll start … telling everyone what she knows."

Harry was startled by Imogen's knowledge of Jane's weakness for spilling the beans, but he didn't know why he should have been. Imogen was clearly close to Middleton. "I doubt she knows much," he said calmly. "She rarely showed an interest in what I did."

"All the same, there is something you need to know, before you go rummaging around in Tony Middleton's affairs." Imogen waited, watching Harry's face. Fortunately, he was adept at remaining expressionless. "There is something you need to know about me, something which I doubt you know. Do you know who my father is?"

Harry failed to see why her father's identity was important, but he continued to play along. "I believe your father is Alec Waterstone."

"That's the man who brought me up, and so I took his name. He is my mother's husband, but not my father. My parents split up when I was small. My biological father is Quentin Sillitoe."

Harry sat back, watching her face. "The same Quentin Sillitoe who works out of the Middle East as a war correspondent?"

"Yes, although he prefers to call himself an investigator, or a truth teller." Imogen looked down at her hands, and then up again, as she noticed a couple of teenagers heading towards them. "I should go. I just needed to tell you that, and … that I have had regular contact with my biological father for some time now. We speak every week, and I tell him … anything he asks, and given the nature of his work, he always has a lot of questions." She lifted her cigarette to her mouth, and took a deep lungful, before expelling the smoke over her shoulder. "With my particular … lifestyle, I know things that no-one else knows. I need you to know that."

"Why tell me?" he asked quietly.

"Why not?"

And she quickly got up and left, leaving Harry sitting in the bus shelter alone, still unsure why the meeting had had to occur face to face. Nothing she had said to him could not have been conveyed electronically. Had she been saying what he thought she'd been saying? And why had she chosen him, of all the people in the security services, to be the recipient of such information?


	16. Chapter 16

When Harry reached his car, he climbed in, and quickly drove off. Once he'd driven well away from the place where he'd met Imogen, he stopped the car in a quiet side street, and called Ruth.

"Do you feel like a night out, or a night in?" he asked her.

"I know I should say I'd like to go out, but I'd rather have dinner in, and then crawl into bed with you."

"I'll bring home dinner."

"I _can_ cook, you know," Ruth protested.

"Save that for when you're home alone," he said.

"Is my cooking that bad?"

"Of course not. Ruth … I'm just trying to save you from having to look after me. I don't want to be one of those men who turns up each night at six, expecting dinner to be on the table."

"Had I thought you to be like that, you wouldn't have made it past the holding hands stage."

Harry chuckled, deciding to never tell her that while married to Jane, he had been a man like that. Over time, as he became more and more shut down, he had become a man who had expected dinner on the table, and sex when he wanted it. When Jane had decided to no longer provide either on tap, their marriage had begun to unravel. Harry had learned his lesson the hard way.

* * *

Ruth and Harry sat over their dinner and talked quietly, in between taking mouthfuls of fish and chips, and the white wine left over from the night before. Harry had told her of his meeting with Imogen Cole, and as expected, Ruth had more questions than he had answers.

"I was hoping you could figure it out," he'd said at last. "I've always relied upon you for information."

"You forget that I was out of the country for two years," she said snappily.

"I hadn't forgotten, Ruth. How could I possibly forget?"

He was relieved to see Ruth's face soften. "I'm sorry," she said. "I overreacted." When Harry nodded, taking the largest piece of fish on the plate, she continued. "I've heard of Quentin Sillitoe, but I don't know why he is important at this time. My take on Imogen telling you about her relationship with him is that she is talking to him, passing on information. The fact that she went to the trouble of meeting you was her way of telling you she _has_ information worthy of passing on to Sillitoe. She is in the unenviable position of being married to one man who is about to become the Home Secretary from hell, while having a sexual relationship with another man whose money is funding home grown terrorist activity. She must have nerves of steel."

Suddenly, Harry lifted his eyes to Ruth, sitting back in his chair. "Say that again," he said quietly.

"Which bit? The bit about Imogen Cole having nerves of steel?"

Harry nodded. "Why would you say that?"

Ruth drew her eyebrows together, watching Harry over the rim of her wine glass. She had had her fill of the fish and chips, and was happy for Harry to finish what remained. "I thought that to be obvious. She's close to two very dangerous men, and then, while both are out of town, she asks to meet you, the man who is potentially the nemesis of both men. I admire her nerve. I also suspect her of harbouring a death wish."

"Do you think she's passing on all she knows to Sillitoe, hoping he'll do something with it?"

"That appears to be the most likely option." Ruth carefully placed her wine glass on the table, before again lifting her eyes to Harry. "The thing is, were Sillitoe to put anything at all in the public domain, both he and Imogen would be dead within forty eight hours, perhaps even less."

Harry nodded slowly. "That's what I thought, too, and I'd say that Imogen Cole is someone who is rather fond of living."

* * *

Later, Ruth and Harry stood at the sink together while she washed their dishes, and he dried them, and put them away. Given they both had Sunday off, they had opened a second bottle of wine, and were planning to finish it after they'd cleaned up after dinner.

"Can I ask you something?" Ruth said at last, placing the last of the plates in the dish drainer. When Harry nodded, she continued. "What do you think it is about Jane that she can enter into a marriage with a man like Middleton, and not know … not suspect him of dodgy dealings?"

Predictably, Harry picked up the last plate, and took a long time over drying it, before returning it to the cupboard where the dinner plates were kept. He then folded and hung the tea towel, then took the bottle of wine and two clean glasses back to the dining table. It was only when Ruth had sat down opposite him that he filled their glasses, and then sat back, his eyes on her.

"Jane had little idea of what I was up to for much of the time we were married. Had she known the details of what I did, both in Berlin and in Northern Ireland, she'd have packed her bags and left, taking our children with her." Harry dropped his eyes to his glass, slowly rotating it on the table top, while he continued to speak in a measured way, his voice quiet, his words carefully chosen. "At the time, I believed it was in my best interests, as her husband, to keep her in the dark. I couldn't have told her anything I did. It wouldn't have been safe, either for her or the children." He sighed, lifting his eyes to Ruth for a moment, before dropping them. "But she slept with me, and I have this theory that people who share the same bed, even if they don't have sex, absorb some of the essence of the other person while they sleep – their thoughts, fears, and aspirations, their guilt and shame. At some level, she knew that I led a destructive existence, and that I had tortured and killed people. I never told her about any of it, but I think she knew, which is why, as time passed, she began to sink into a depression. What woman .. what mother ... could stand by while the father of her children committed unspeakable acts? Above all else, Jane was always a very … devoted mother to our children." Harry paused for a long moment, half expecting Ruth to get up and leave the room, leaving him sitting at the table alone. He would not have blamed her had she. He quickly glanced up to see her watching him closely, her love for him shining in her eyes. He swallowed before continuing. "I think that, having been with me, and experiencing what she'd been through while … sharing her life with mine, her unconscious attraction would be to men with a hidden dark side ..."

"Like Tony Middleton."

"Yes," he said, lifting his eyes to hold hers, hoping his gratitude showed, "like Middleton. It's what she knows. Her father was a charming man, but beneath the acceptable social exterior he was a bastard, but Jane still adored him, and was distraught when he died. I know almost nothing about Jane's second husband, but he ran some kind of importing business, so it's likely he had some nefarious connections, but she would have been drawn to Middleton like a moth to a flame … even if she hadn't known why."

Harry had said all he had to say on the subject. In a way, he understood why it was Ruth and Jane had been drawn to one another. At one time or another, they had both loved the same man, and maybe they each had needed a better understanding of that attraction. He had no idea why it was either woman had loved him, but he was grateful that they had. Without Jane having loved him, he wouldn't have his two children, and without Ruth's clear love for him, he wouldn't be facing his salvation, his opportunity to be living a different kind of life.

"You're wondering what it is I love about you … aren't you?" Ruth's voice was quiet, her tone serious.

Harry had been watching her closely, and he could see that she'd taken her time while choosing her words. "Yes," he said, "I am. I've often wondered how it is you see me, and is it the controlling section head you love, or … something else." He hated talking about himself in such a way, and he was already feeling far less comfortable than he'd have liked. He wanted to change the subject, to move on to safer subjects, like their plans for the following week, but if he wanted to be with Ruth – and he did – then he knew conversations such as the one they were having would be something he'd have to take part in on a regular basis. She was his love, his heart, his reason for getting out of bed in the morning, so the very least he could do would be to do all he could to make her happy, even if this resulted in high levels of discomfort on his part.

They had developed gaps in their speaking – between him speaking, and her replying. From within those gaps they watched one another, in awe of their loved one, appreciating them more and more with each passing moment. This was one such moment, and Harry waited, willing himself to be patient, as Ruth searched for the right words.

"It's not … any one thing, Harry, it's … everything which makes you _you_. As frustrating as I sometimes find him, I love the stubborn and obstinate man in the same way I love his gentle and caring alter ego. I love your passion, and that is expressed through anger as readily as when you're making love to me. I also love your honesty; honesty in others is very important to me."

"As it is to me," he said.

"Even though we both lie for a living?"

"I prefer to call it pretending."

"Semantics."

She was right, of course. She usually was. Harry leaned forward, his passions sparked. "The whole world lies, Ruth. When someone asks you how you are, how do you reply?"

"I say I'm fine," she replied, "but when it's you who asks me, I reply honestly."

"It's all a matter of degree. Some lies are little while lies, while others are calculated to deceive."

His words brought a smile to Ruth's eyes. "I still love your honesty," she said, "and your decency. I know you haven't always been honest and decent, but I didn't know you then -"

"And you wouldn't have loved me back then."

Ruth nodded slowly. "Possibly." She took a small sip of wine, and then watched the table top while she repositioned her glass, more carefully than necessary. "Tell me," she said, "now that we're being open and honest with one another, what it was drew you to Jane?"

Harry had been waiting for that very question, and he'd been dreading it. He could have fobbed her off with some textbook answer, but being Ruth, she'd have seen through it. With her, the truth was necessary. His honesty was one of the qualities she loved in him. "She was … stunning to look at, and when I first met her I was very young, and physical attraction was what I looked for … at least, initially." He watched Ruth as she nodded, and he took that as a sign to continue. "She was also very bright, and she treated me differently from how my previous girlfriends had behaved."

"How so?"

"She didn't pander to my ego. She'd laugh when I tried to pretend I was a big man, an important man. She'd tell me to stop pretending I was something I wasn't. I think the words she used were, `stop bullshitting, Harry, and be yourself.' She had an uncanny ability to detect when I was being fake. She couldn't tolerate fake behaviour."

"But she puts on an act almost all the time."

"Now she does, yes, but back then, she was the most honest woman I'd ever met. I guess ..." he said, smiling down at his wine, "that she reminded me a lot of my mother, but I'd not have recognised that back then."

He could detect discomfort in Ruth, as she watched him across the table, her eyes on his. "I suppose the next step in this session of disclosures," she said, "is for you to tell me what it is you love about me." Ruth then dropped her eyes, which told him how hard it had been for her to have asked that question.

"That's easy," Harry said quickly. "I love absolutely everything about you."

"I asked for honesty, Harry, and I don't think that's an honest answer."

She had caught him on the wrong foot, and she'd been right. Of course Ruth had less loveable qualities, but to him, they were immaterial. Overall, he found that he loved her. "Very well," he said, only mildly embarrassed. "I love that you're clever, and you are confident about what you do well. I love your gentleness and compassion, and the way you treat all the people in your life. No-one is unimportant to you, and you treat everyone with equal respect. That is a rare quality, especially in our business." Harry hesitated, all the time with his eyes on Ruth. What he was about to say was to take him into very personal territory for him. "I know that I'm safe with you," he said quietly at last, hoping he didn't sound too weak.

"Except when I've turned away from you."

"Yes, there is that," he replied, glancing up at her quickly, and then dropping his eyes, "but even then, I understand why you've … rejected me .. in the past, and it has never stopped me loving you."

This time, Ruth's smile was wide. "Thank you," she said.

"For what?"

"You've just shown me that even when I was awful to you, even if only temporarily, you never wavered. That's what you mean … isn't it? That's what you mean by loving everything about me. You even love my … hesitance, and even when I'm fearful .. about you … about us."

"Of course. Don't you love me when I'm irrational, or angry, or I send good people out to do unthinkable things?"

Ruth nodded slowly. She could see that their exploration had taken them back to where they'd begun when they'd first discussed what they loved about the other. She had found it confronting, and ultimately exhausting. She was not used to being so open with another, and opening some of her inner doors had required a huge effort on her part. Besides, she hadn't expected Harry's full cooperation. He was a man with many compartments, not all of them available to her, or to anyone at all. That he had shown her even a tiny part of his vulnerability was surprising, as well as encouraging.

What followed was a long silence. They were both drained, not so much from the day's activities, but by their personal revelations. Opening one's heart, even to a lover, was wearying. So much hung on the response of the other person. So much could be lost, trampled on, never again to recover. That they had made it through to the other side was a minor miracle. Harry was not a praying man, but in that silence which followed their revelations to one another, he thanked whatever power had been with them that evening, protecting them, guiding them to being open and honest and brave with one another. He had little difficulty being valiant in the field, when the chips were down, and there were lives at stake, but in his closest bonds with women, he had never been the bravest of men, but now he must. Ruth deserved the very best of him.

* * *

It was much later, after they had finished the bottle of wine, that they crawled into bed together, shuffling across the mattress to lie close to one another. Ruth reached out for Harry's hand, and he curled his fingers around hers, pulling her small hand against his thigh.

"Thank you for … trusting me," he said.

Ruth could hear the trepidation behind his words. "I have to," she said honestly. "Besides, we still have a long way to go. I'm sure there will be times when we each wonder what we've got ourselves into."

"I won't."

"You don't know that."

And he didn't, of course. Both of them harboured places where they rarely ventured, for fear they'd never again be able to return to the world which most people occupied. Were either of them to again allow themselves to visit these dark caverns inside themselves, they'd be taking the other with them. Could he do that to this woman he cherished more than anything in his world?

It was at that moment that everything came together for him, like that split second when you realise who the real terrorists are. The answer was so simple, and had been sitting just beyond his reach, waiting for him to assemble the various pieces in the correct order. It was just that he hadn't been able to see it for all the noise of his everyday life. He was tired; he longed to live a simple life with Ruth. Anything else was just distraction.

It was so simple when all the pieces were lined up in front of him – him, Ruth, their work, their private life together. So many incompatibilities. Why hadn't he seen it before?

"I can hear you thinking," Ruth said quietly into the dark.

"Are my thoughts that loud?"

"I'm afraid so. Let them go, Harry. It's time we slept."

He wasn't immediately able do her bidding. He lay awake in the dark a little longer, his hand still grasping Ruth's, while he ran through the various possibilities in his mind. In the end, all roads led to the same place. He couldn't say anything to her yet. He could mentally plan their future, but eventually, he would have to include her in the planning process. It was while he was tying his mind in knots, running through all the various options, that Harry joined Ruth, and succumbed to sleep.


	17. Chapter 17

_**A/N: This chapter is quite information-heavy, but I wanted to get the details out of the way in one hit, otherwise this story would never end. It is also M-rated. **_

* * *

The Grid – Monday morning:

"Would Raj and Caroline remain seated? The rest of you are dismissed."

The three of them waited until they were the only people left in the meeting room. As the door closed behind Erin, Harry sat forward, his forearms resting on the edge of the meeting room table. "I have a job for the two of you, and it's to be kept between those of us here. Joe is busy with a search into the latest inflow of North African immigrants ... a search which has been requested by the Home Office." When Raj and Caroline nodded, their faces showing nothing, not even mild curiosity, Harry continued. He removed a single A4 page from the folder on the desk in front of him, and slid it across the smooth table surface until it was in front of Raj. "I need to know everything about this woman."

"Imogen Cole?" Raj said. "I thought we'd already looked into her."

"I want to know about her backgound – her parents, whose names are listed there – her schooling, university, everything. I need to know all there is to know, and I need it as soon as possible."

"Surely our delving into Dominic Cole gave us some insight into his wife," Caroline said quietly, her eyes on Harry.

Perhaps he was being overly sensitive, perhaps he was still emotionally raw from having made love to Ruth just before dawn that morning. Whatever the cause, Harry looked at Caroline sharply, hoping she'd get the hint, and just do as he asked. He didn't want a discussion about this, and he certainly wasn't about to argue about it.

"There is nothing to discuss, Caroline," he said curtly. "This woman is key to the earlier searches I set you to do."

Seeing that Harry was in one of his obstinate moods, Raj rose from his chair, catching Caroline's eye, and then flicking his head towards the door.

Once they had left the room, Harry sat back in his chair, and sighed. Was it him, or was it them? He knew that his request was reasonable, and in his world, the one he had inhabited for over thirty years, the term, `leave no stone unturned', was fundamental to the job. Perhaps it _was_ him, after all. He needed to step down and let a younger person occupy his chair. While she would offer a different style of leadership, unlike him, Erin had not lost her edge or her enthusiasm, and he was sure she'd welcome the challenge that being section head of Section D would present. It was just that he hadn't discussed the subject with Ruth, and he believed she had a right to an opinion on the matter.

* * *

Three days later – Thursday morning:

Harry had already had a full week, but he still made it to Thames House by seven-fifteen, and yet he was not the first member of his team to arrive. Erin was already at her desk, head down over a pile of files, and as he entered his office, he noticed both Raj and Caroline heading his way. He hadn't even had time to visit Ruth since the weekend, and despite speaking to her by phone at least once daily, he was missing her calming presence. With one look she could bring down his heart rate, and with the soft touch of her hand, she could quieten the anxieties which constantly plagued his thoughts.

"Shut the door behind you," he said, without looking up.

"I think we have the information you required," Caroline said quickly, taking the seat opposite Harry, while Raj grabbed a spare chair from near the window.

"You think, or know?" Harry replied, still not looking up. He'd wanted to ring Ruth before he faced the day, but that clearly wasn't about to happen.

"Do you want to read our findings yourself, or are you willing to listen to a synopsis?" Caroline's voice was quiet but Harry could detect a tone of sharpness. He had best calm down, and quickly.

"Perhaps you should tell me, and then I might have ..."

"Questions," Caroline finished for him. Harry looked up and nodded, surprised by the expression of calm on Caroline's features. Nothing fazed her; little upset her. She was the perfect foil for him – as was Ruth in his personal life - and so his best approach was for him to behave himself. "Raj?" she said, turning towards the technical officer, who was sitting quietly, waiting for Harry to drop his attitude.

"It turns out your suspicions were correct," he said, opening the folder he'd been holding, and removing the top sheet of A4 paper. "Shall I continue?"

Harry nodded, sitting back in his chair, folding his hands over his stomach.

Raj's dark eyes flicked up from the paper in his hands. Harry was doing his Buddha impression. It was about to be a long day.

* * *

"Do you mind?" Harry asked, for the third time, and again Ruth assured him that she would be happy were he to visit her.

"You'll be staying the night?" She heard the heartbeat of Harry's hesitation. "Only if you want to, of course. I know you're -"

"Yes," he said quickly, "I'd like to stay. I've missed you."

"As I have you, Harry."

By the time Ruth heard his key in the front door to her flat it was after nine-thirty, and she was about to head to bed. She met him in the doorway between the entrance hall and the living room, and walked straight into his arms. She felt his lips on her hair, and then her forehead, as she allowed herself to sink against his broad body. She was content for him to hold her, to allow her to cleave to his strength. Harry was and always would be her rock. She could have remained that way for eternity, but she knew he had visited her for a reason. Slowly she drew away from him, reaching up to receive his brief kiss. He had something to tell her, something about the background of Imogen Cole, something even she didn't know.

Ruth grasped his hand, and led him through to the dining area. "Take a seat," she said, "and I'll make us a drink. Hot chocolate?"

Ruth had been encouraging Harry to reduce his caffeine intake. (His alcohol consumption varied with his level of stress at work, so perhaps that was a project for another time.) He'd been in the habit of drinking coffee before bed, so she surmised that if she offered nothing other than a beverage low in caffeine, he'd have to accept what was on offer. Harry's nod was hardly enthusiastic, but she'd expected that. Once they were seated across from one another at the table, mugs of hot chocolate in front of them, Ruth lifted her eyes to his, her cue that he should begin.

Harry had found the hot chocolate too hot to drink, so he sat back and began to talk. As he'd suspected, Imogen Cole was the key to the whole story of Tony Middleton, Dominic Cole, Avery Fleming, and even Aadil Khalil. Without her presence in the bigger picture, all the other players appeared to be random people who had found one another on a dodgy internet forum.

"Bad guys dot com," Ruth mused. When Harry frowned in confusion, she qualified her comment. "I imagine a place where these kinds of people connect with one another. It's not like the old days, where people like the Kray brothers regularly met at a pub in Whitechapel."

Harry again tried his drink, and this time it was just hot, rather than scalding, so he took a sip. "Do you have marshamallows?" he asked.

So Ruth got up and rifled through one of her cupboards in search of the marshmallows Harry had bought when they'd visited the shops on the weekend. She opened the bag, placing it on the table between them. "You know very well we have marshmallows," she said, taking one marshmallow to place in her drink, while Harry took three, glancing up at her guiltily.

"I like marshmallows," he said. Ruth nodded, not wanting the conversation to be diverted by Harry's sweet tooth.

Once he was content with his drink, Harry launched into a summary of what his small team had discovered about Imogen Cole, while Ruth listened, only interrupting him occasionally when she sought clarification.

Imogen Cole was an enigma. She had been born in March 1976, to Christa Philpott and Quentin Sillitoe. Her parents had met at Bristol University, where Quentin studied Journalism and Politics, and Christa majored in Political Science. Both were active in student politics. Both wrote for the student paper, which in his final year, Quentin edited. Both were openly left-leaning, speaking and writing about the increasing marginalisation of the working class in the UK. Imogen was born during their final year in university, a year before they married. The child spent the first months of her life living with Christa's parents in Bristol.

Both Christa and Quentin continued their activism after they left university. While Quentin worked for a local Bristol newspaper, Christa lived with her parents and her child. From there, she continued to write – inflammatory pieces about the loss of the working class, the dominance of the landed wealthy, and the country's descent into full blown capitalism. They married in June of 1977, renting a small flat not far from Quentin's work. When the Tory party attained power in 1979, Quentin quit his job at the newspaper, and worked for a small activist group based in London, much of his writing warning of the effects long term of a Thatcher-led government. Ironically, many of his predictions came to pass, including the inevitability of Thatcher's own ministers turning against her.

By the early 1980s, Christa had already met Alec Waterstone, who ran his own small business in Bristol, and was offering her a more stable life than the one she'd shared with her husband. Christmas 1981 was marked by Christa and Imogen, then aged four, moving in with Waterstone, leaving Quentin free to pursue a relationship with an Iranian woman he'd met in London.

"And so the cycle repeated," Harry said, watching Ruth closely for signs that she was putting the somewhat disparate pieces together. "Imogen attended a public school just outside Bristol, and then on to Bristol University."

"Studying what?" Ruth asked.

"Political Science," Harry replied, twisting his mouth in an expression familiar to her.

"Like mother, like daughter," Ruth commented quietly.

"In every way, apparently. She wrote for the university rag, and in her final year edited the newspaper – like her father before her. Her preference was for left wing pieces, questioning the class system, and taking to task the Thatcher government for ruining the prospects of younger people, and beginning to dismantle the welfare state. She had quite a following."

"Until she met Dominic Cole?"

Harry nodded. "Until she met Dominic Cole."

"So … like her mother before her, she fell under the spell of the privileged life," Ruth stated, the generational pattern appearing clear to her.

"Only on the surface. Of the extra-marital affairs we know about, four have been with Conservative politicians – one of them a member of cabinet -"

" _Really_? Who?"

"That was several years ago, and no names were recorded. She has also had at least five … liaisons with businessmen, all of them wealthy and influential men, like Middleton." Harry sat back, sliding his fingers up and down the sides of his mug. He'd finished the chocolate and the marshmallows while he'd been telling Ruth the brief version of the life of Imogen Cole to date. He waited for her summary, which would surely follow. "There's just one other piece of information which my analyst stumbled upon." Harry glance up at Ruth, hoping she'd not react to his use of the words, `my analyst'. Wisely, she didn't. "It appears that Aadil Khalil, one of the supposed Birmingham bombers, was smuggled into the UK by Middleton … specifically for the purpose of bombing the Birmingham mosque. His wife and daughter joined him on legitimate visas a year after he entered the country."

"So .. Middleton's people smuggling has been for the express purpose of importing terrorists to the UK."

"It looks that way. It appears he targets the desperate, and he pays for their passage himself. That way, they will always be indebted to him."

"And should the media blame immigration for the rising incidence of home grown terrorist attacks, Middleton would be the first one in line speaking out to support that view, even though he is the one behind it."

"That appears to be the game he plays, yes," Harry replied quietly.

"I feel like I've been leading such a dull life," Ruth said at last, gazing across the table at him, her eyes wide.

"Dull? Define dull. You've been kidnapped twice, three times were you to count your return to London in 2009. You've been exiled, sacrificed your career to save me – twice – shot a man, watched while your partner was shot, and those are just the highlights. I'd say that the last ten years of your life have been anything but dull."

Ruth, visibly embarrassed, dropped her eyes from his. "I suppose," she began quietly, "I was thinking more of Mrs Cole's … sexual exploits. In the past seven years, there have only been two men in my life, and one of them is sitting across from me now."

"What about prior to seven years ago?" Of course, he was curious. What man wouldn't be?

"There was no-one serious. Just a series of infrequent, often disastrous dates."

Harry was happy that Ruth had not fallen in love prior to George, although he hadn't wanted her to have been unhappy. He watched her, waiting for her to say more, but she appeared to have said all she had to say about her previous amours.

"It appears," Ruth said at last, "that Imogen's marriage to Cole is one of convenience."

"I agree, and there is a very good reason for their being married."

Ruth frowned at Harry, her forehead furrowing in that familiar way she had, when her mind was working overtime. "There can only be one good reason," she said at last. "Given he is the one with money, and Imogen has … aspirations of a kind, Dominic Cole is probably gay."

Harry grinned. "Spot on. Although that information is top secret -"

"As is all your other information, Harry."

"Of course." Harry contemplated Ruth for a moment, waiting for her to make her conclusions about what Imogen Cole was up to. He hadn't long to wait.

"She's continuing her parents' work, only this time, she's putting her life on the line." When Harry nodded slowly, she continued. "Her affairs are acceptable, because all in the inner circle know of Cole's sexuality, but in fact, she's on an information-gathering mission, and has been since she left university."

Again, Harry nodded. "And she has been since she met Cole – seventeen years ago."

"So ..." Ruth mused, "she's playing the long game."

"A very long game."

"She'd have made a marvellous spy," Ruth said, watching Harry closely.

Harry had thought the same thing, but hadn't wanted to be the one to mention it. They sat for a long moment, holding the eyes of the other across the width of the table. Eventually, it was Ruth who made the first move. Harry had already announced his desire to stay the night, adding, "I'm too exhausted for anything more," soon after he'd arrived.

Ruth stood, and with her eyes holding his, she walked around the table to stand beside his chair. Placing one hand on his shoulder, she leaned in to kiss him. She would have settled for a good snog, but Harry turned in his chair, moving his legs apart, so that she could move closer to him, sliding both hands around his shoulders. Ruth felt herself sinking against him, as his arms encircled her waist, drawing her even closer. As the kiss took on a life all of its own, she moved her lower body, and touched his leg, so that he closed his legs, so she sank onto his lap, sliding herself against him, absorbing his warmth.

She lifted her head, exposing her skin, so that Harry to move his lips from her mouth to her neck, and then to her throat, while with one hand, he quickly opened her dressing gown, and slid it from her shoulders, and to the floor. As Ruth arched her back, she pushed her groin against his growing erection. She had long ago stopped talking herself out of what was clearly about to happen. They had so little time alone together, and so far that evening, they had done little other than talk. She pushed herself against him, grinding her heat against his matching heat. Harry's response was to growl, his mouth against her skin. Then he slid both hands beneath her camisole in search of her breasts.

Ruth entertained a brief thought that maybe she should first check to see if this was what Harry really wanted. When he took one of her nipples in his mouth, she knew what his answer would be. Soon, his fingers were inside her pyjama pants, and he was caressing her folds in a familiar rhythm, while one finger dipped inside her. Ruth closed her eyes, leaned back, and allowed her climax to ripple through her.

Once her breathing calmed, she opened her eyes to find him watching her with lazy eyes. Reaching down between them, she found he was hard, and hot and ready. Since they'd begun kissing, neither had spoken. In one fluid movement, Ruth stood, and pulled off her pyjama pants, while Harry undid his trousers and pushed them, along with his underwear, to his knees.

When she settled back, he guided her onto him, and then she leaned into him, her hands on his shoulders, while with his hands on her buttocks, he kept her steady. This was to be the first time they had made love this way, and Ruth enjoyed the control it gave her, especially since Harry was tired. She was happy to be giving him pleasure, although she felt like all the pleasure was her own. She closed her eyes and gave herself over to the sensation of the rhythm, the timing which had become familiar to them. He filled her completely. When he came, he uttered the first words he'd spoken since they'd been discussing Imogen Cole. " _Christ! Ruth!_ " he cried, his voice rasping close to her ear. He moved his fingers to bring her to completion again, and all she could do was whimper. She was spent, exhausted, and all she wanted to do was crawl under the covers with him, and sleep. When at last she opened her eyes, she noted that Harry still wore his shirt and tie.

* * *

"Thank you," Harry said, once they were in bed, and the light had been turned off. "That was … unbelievable."

Ruth had been thinking about the last time she'd made love while sitting on a man's lap. She'd been in her early thirties, and the man had had short, dark hair, and just as she'd sat across his knees, he had removed his glasses. She tried to remember his name. Rod? Ross? Rory? They had only dated a few times before he had moved on to someone else, leaving Ruth wondering what this other woman had that she didn't.

"You're thinking again," he said quietly. "I can feel it. Your thoughts are heavy."

For a moment, Ruth thought of sharing her thoughts with Harry, but at the last moment, decided against it. "I was wondering whether you came here tonight hoping we'd have sex." Regretting having spoken so quickly, and recognising that they may have come across as confronting, she waited in silence for Harry's reply, which took what seemed like a long time.

"No, I wasn't. I hadn't thought it to be on the agenda at all, but clearly … I was wrong .. and pleasantly surprised."

"I'm glad we did."

She felt Harry turn towards her and then his arm, heavy and warm, snaked around her waist. "Me too," he murmured, and in less than a minute his breathing became deep and slow and steady. He was asleep.

Ruth closed her eyes, a smile on her face. In that moment in time, she was perfectly content.


	18. Chapter 18

Ruth was awoken by the rumble of Harry's voice from elsewhere in her flat. Rolling onto her back, she remembered that he had stayed overnight, they'd made love on a kitchen chair, and then they had staggered to bed to sleep. She then remembered that it was Friday, and she smiled into the dark. Her first full week back had not been nearly as trying as had been her first three days the previous week. She was slowly acclimatising to again working at the Home Office, her work being scrutinised by others. By comparison, her two years working alone in the US had been easy.

Needing to check the time, she turned to grab her phone, but it wasn't on the bedside table where she'd left it. It appeared that Harry was using it. The indistinct rumble of his voice continued, so she lifted herself out of bed, put on her dressing gown and slippers, and followed the sound of Harry's voice. When she heard him say his ex-wife's name, his tone one of mild irritation, Ruth had some idea of what was going on. Jane had rung her, needing advice, an ear, perhaps even rescuing.

Ruth was well aware that her continued association with Jane Middleton-soon-to-be-Townsend could put them both at risk. She was aware of how tenuous was her own continued safety were she to continue meeting Jane. Knowing that, she still needed to be there for Jane, to guide her through this difficult time, and she genuinely liked the woman, finding her company easy and uncomplicated. Jane was her opposite, the older woman displaying a confidence and boldness that Ruth could only dream of having. The only real fly in the ointment was Jane's husband; the man was capable of having either or both of them eliminated. Harry had warned her, and she had pleaded her case to him. Now it was possible that both she and Harry were about to be dragged into Jane's mess, a mess which was not theirs to be cleaning up.

But wasn't that what she and Harry had been doing for years? One of the things she loved most about Harry was his sure moral sense, and she valued that same moral sense in herself. To abandon Jane in her time of need, on the off chance that she – and perhaps also Harry - would be in danger's way, was to cherry pick the moral issues she was prepared to champion. Ruth liked to think of herself as someone who was honest and true, prepared to help a friend, and Jane had become a friend, especially given her friends from before she'd left London had moved on with their lives. She was prepared to overlook the oddness of her situation, where her best friends in the world were Harry Pearce – her ex-boss, now her lover – and his former wife. This was a threesome of a different kind, and even in the face of Harry's warnings, Ruth quite enjoyed it.

"Jane rang around twenty minutes ago," Harry said, placing Ruth's phone on the kitchen table in front of him, beside his first cup of coffee for the day. He reached up to receive Ruth's good morning kiss, cupping her cheek in his hand, and looking into her eyes once the kiss was over. "I'm sorry if I woke you."

Needing to remain close to him, Ruth took the seat beside Harry's. Very carefully, she rested her hand on his thigh, and she felt the muscles beneath his dressing gown quiver slightly at her touch. "What did she want?" Ruth asked.

Suddenly, Harry stood, and headed into the kitchen area, busying himself making a coffee for Ruth, and a second cup for himself. "She has a crisis on her hands," he said at last, his head down as he added boiling water to their cups. "I'm not sure why she rang you and not me, but .. I'm glad you had your phone on vibrate, otherwise her call would have woken you." Ruth waited until Harry returned to the table with their coffee. He placed their cups in front of them, and reached across to kiss Ruth once more. "I love you," he said, his face still close to hers, his eyes holding hers.

"What did Jane want?" Ruth didn't trust herself. Even verbal intimacies could easily lead to something more, and they were faced with a problem which required a rapid solution.

"Her husband rang her, ordering her home."

"But she is home."

"That's what she told him. He said that if she's not home – at his house – by six o'clock tonight, he'll personally turn up at her mother's house to drag her back … Jane's words. She's … afraid that he knows what she did. I suspect he knows nothing, but needs her home for some cocktail party or other. He can hardly have Imogen Cole as his hostess."

Ruth dropped her eyes from Harry's. He was being especially attentive, and all it would take would be another kiss, his hand slid inside her dressing gown, and she'd be thinking, `Jane who?' Ruth needed to focus. "Is she planning to do as her husband wants?"

Harry shook his head, his eyes still on her, raking over her face, and the bare skin of her throat. "She doesn't want to, and I agree with her. I rang Calum Reid, and asked him to drive her to a B&B a little under an hour outside London. The owner of the B&B is former Mi5. She'll be safe there."

"For how long?"

"For as long as it takes."

"Jane will go crazy, cooped up in a B&B, without the stimulation of company."

"Surely that's preferable to living under Middleton's roof."

"I hope she can see that," Ruth mused, almost to herself.

"So do I."

"And what about the surveillance team?" Ruth asked, having only just remembered the three junior officers watching Jane's townhouse.

"I've instructed them to remain until further notice. I need to know who turns up at the house, and when."

Ruth nodded, approving the decision.

* * *

Calum had not volunteered for this particular operation, if in fact it could have been called an operation. Taxiing Harry's ex to Crawley was not his idea of a fun morning spent with a woman, but the best thing about it was that in all probability he would survive the journey there and back. A bonus was that Jane Middleton was an entertaining and loquacious companion.

"You're younger than all of my husbands, and yet older than my son," she'd said, soon after they'd left her street, "which makes you intriguing to me."

Calum's first thought had been, `Harry has a son?', and his second thought had been that he'd not once in his life been called intriguing. "How so?" he asked, glancing at the woman's profile. She was striking, in an older-woman kind of way, and he could even see what must have at one time attracted Harry to her.

"Because you're too young for me to date, and too old for me to mother you."

Calum had laughed at that. She had balls, did Harry's ex. Harry clearly appreciated women with balls. Ruth certainly had balls of steel, although he'd never share that with the woman herself, and certainly not with Harry, not if he valued his continued existence. For the first time since he'd first met Harry almost three years ago, the man was happy, although Calum was certain that he still had a core of anger in his gut. Anger was what often motivated the man; it was his anger which made him such an effective spy. Love would likely as not soften Harry, but at sixty years and counting, perhaps he was ready for a softer, calmer kind of life.

"The last woman I dated married someone else, and the last woman to have mothered me … well, I still call her Mum," he said, glancing quickly at Jane.

The trip passed quickly, and once Jane Middleton was happily settled in her room – in the attic of the B&B, overlooking a man-made lake, surrounded by green parkland – Calum had spoken briefly with Milton, the former Mi5 agent, now small business owner, exchanging phone numbers.

Calum was back at Thames House well before lunchtime, and just in time for Harry to give him another babysitting job, albeit an electronic one.

"Avery Fleming is a plant," Harry explained, "and this is his code number, his office number, and the identity number of his computer terminal. I want you to intercept every memo and email in and out of that terminal. Use the usual protections. Fleming has dangerous associates."

And that was his job for the foreseeable future. Calum was glad to have something to be getting on with, although he wasn't sure that his contribution was to be a significant one. Perhaps Harry had just chosen some random dude on the sixth floor, asking him to watch the guy. Like the situation in Birmingham, it would probably amount to nothing at all.

* * *

It was getting on for six o'clock when Harry appeared beside Calum's desk. Calum looked up to see Harry with his coat draped over one arm, his face more relaxed than usual.

"I'm off for the weekend," Harry said, "and I just wanted to see how your search is progressing."

"Nothing out of the ordinary yet, although," and Calum opened a separate window on his monitor, "I took a while to decrypt his emails to and from Dominic Cole in the Home Office. Even when read in plain English, they appear to be in some kind of code."

"How do you mean?"

"Well ..." and Calum scrolled down to an unusually brief email, sent by Fleming at just after five pm, "he says something about a cuckoo, and then a sailing boat. I get the cuckoo reference, although there is no telling who the cuckoo might be." Harry was leaning close to the monitor, his palm flat on the desk. Calum could see the worry on the older man's face. "I thought I'd check with Raj. He's had the day off … something to do with his grandfather's funeral, but he's due in any minute now."

Harry appeared happy with that, and stood up straight, then nodded. "I'm expected at home for dinner, but if and when you have any kind of breakthrough, I need to know."

"Even if it's at two in the morning?"

Harry's look of distaste did not escape Calum. "Yes, even then," Harry said curtly, and then he quickly left.

Calum watched the older man as he hurried towards the entrance. He had someone to go home to, and for that, Calum envied him. The man had given so much of himself, and for so long, that it was about time he had some lightness, some love in his life. He had watched them together at drinks at The Admiral Arms the week before. Harry and Ruth had appeared happy together, and at ease in one another's company. They were well matched, and privately, Calum gave the match his seal of approval.

* * *

Next morning – Saturday – early:

This time it was Ruth who woke when she heard the buzzing of Harry's phone on vibrate. He was dead to the world, his face turned towards her, his features relaxed in sleep. She fought a powerful urge to reach down and place her lips on his, to wake him slowly with a kiss – Sleeping Beauty kissing awake her very own Prince Charming. Being naked beneath the duvet, Ruth was reluctant to lift herself upright, but she had to, or else risk waking Harry. She reached over Harry's head and grabbed his phone. Noting the caller to be Jane, she dove out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown and slippers, and quickly left the room.

"Jane?" she answered, once she was in the kitchen.

"Is Harry awake?"

"No .. he isn't, and I didn't want to wake him. He's had a long week at work." Ruth waited the length of a heartbeat, and then continued. "Can I help? I am working within the Home Office."

"Can you perhaps turn on the TV? Not the BBC. They're not running the story. The proverbial has hit the fan."

Ruth shuffled back into the living room, turning the gas fire to full heat, before she turned on the TV, and then muted the sound. She had to flick through the channels until she came to a rolling news service. With Harry's phone still to her ear, she watched, reading the banner headlines which ran across the bottom of the screen. " _Jesus_ ," was all she could say, before she heard the tone of another call. "Jane, I need to take this other call. I'll call you back," and she ended the call. She was just about to take the other call, which was from Calum, when she felt the heat of Harry's body at her back.

"Christ," he murmured, close to her ear, "the shit's hit the fan."

Ruth pushed his phone into the hand he was about to slide around her waist. "It's Calum," she said quickly. "He's probably been up all night."

"Make it quick," Harry said into the phone, his voice gruff and abrupt.

Ruth watched while he listened, his face like stone. Then she turned her attention back to the TV, where the image of Dominic Cole being led in handcuffs from his three-storied townhouse was being shown again, followed by a similar clip of Sir Anthony Middleton being escorted from his mansion, along with three other men, all in handcuffs. Ruth sat still, waiting for the film clips to be repeated, just in case she had imagined the whole thing. How had that happened?

Keeping her eyes on the screen, Ruth then tuned in to what Harry was saying.

"Are you sure about that, Calum? We don't want these bastards getting off on a technicality." Then Harry was silent for a long moment, before answering Calum. "Who was it made that connection?" Another pause. "Then, he deserves our praise and recognition." Ruth looked up at Harry, to see a very rare smile turning his lips. "Yes, I'll ring the HS, otherwise he'll be ringing me. Thank you for letting me know. Yes, you too." Harry closed his phone, and then sat on the sofa, close to Ruth. "The little sod told me to have a good weekend. I'm almost certain he was smiling when he said it."

"I'm sure he means well, Harry."

"Well, I'm not. I'm sure he was taking the piss. And he said something else which annoyed me."

"That's hardly news." Ruth's attention was still on the rolling TV news.

"He said to me, `Now your wife is free to come home.'"

Ruth sat up, and turned to see Harry wearing a frown. "I hope you put him right about that."

"I didn't have to. He apologised almost immediately."

"Then it's not an issue." Harry grunted, apparently not completely appeased. "So .." Ruth continued, needing details, "how did this miracle come about?"

Harry sighed heavily, and then he smiled into her eyes. "Not from anything I or my team had done. The truth is, we came very close to interfering in a very long-term Mi6 operation."

"So, Towers was right in warning us to back off."

"I just wish he'd told me a little more about it. I only set my team to investigate because I was sure that he was fobbing me off .. protecting his cronies."

"I'm not sure Towers even has cronies."

"He's a politician. Of course he has cronies. The Home Office is crawling with them. They're like bloody cockroaches."

By this time, Ruth had turned to face Harry. She longed to touch him, but touching would have to wait. "How was this operation conducted? Who were the main players? Or can't we even know that?"

"Raj worked on this all night, and when Calum turned up on the Grid at five-thirty, Raj had just made the giant leap which would connect all of Imogen Cole, Avery Fleming, and Yusuf Ali - Middleton's man in the Middle East."

"They're _all_ Mi6?"

"All three, yes. It's been a secret operation which had been in progress for several years. At least, that's what Raj was able to surmise from the information at hand. We don't yet know the details."

"And now Jane can come home."

"Yes," Harry said quietly. he'd been looking forward to his ex-wife being out of London for a few weeks. Were he being honest, he'd been jealous of Jane's easy bond with Ruth, viewing it as something which took from him a small part of Ruth. In the clarity brought about by a new day, he could also see that Ruth needed female companionship, and that it would be unfair of him to resent that, even if her chosen companion was Jane. "I'll contact Jane, and check if she's ready to come home." Harry squinted at the TV, checking the time. "I'll leave that for an hour or so. I first need my morning coffee."

"Will you send Calum to bring her home?"

"I don't see why not. They already know one another, and when he returned to the Grid yesterday, he seemed happy enough."

"What will happen to Imogen Cole?" Ruth was genuinely worried about the fate facing the young woman.

"I have no idea."

At that moment, Harry's phone rang. He grasped it from inside the pocket of his dressing gown, leaning across to show Ruth the name on the caller display. "He's not wasting any time," she said, lifting her eyes to his.

"Home Secretary," Harry said, using his Best Grid Voice.

Just then, Ruth heard the ringtone of her own phone, so she hurried to the bedroom to answer it. "Jane," she said, a wave of guilt suddenly washing over her. "I'm sorry I hadn't called back. Things have become a bit mad here."

Never were truer words spoken, and the day had barely begun.


	19. Chapter 19

Their Saturday passed in a blur of phone calls, quick snacks, eaten during the quiet moments, and checking the TV news. Calum had agreed to drive to Crawley on Sunday morning to ferry Jane back to London. It was in late afternoon, when Ruth and Harry were sitting at the kitchen table, having opened a bottle of white wine to accompany the crackers and cheese that Ruth had prepared, that Harry's phone rang once more. He had moved beyond irritation each time either of their phones rang. He had progressed to resignation. Knowing that the situation was a temporary one, he had to adopt a fake smile, and once again answer his phone, pretending to be happy that the caller needed to speak to him.

"Harry Pearce," he said in a voice which he considered calm, although, gauging by Ruth's expression, was still abrupt, perhaps even rude.

"Harry, it's Caroline. I've just had another call from Imogen Cole." Caroline waited for a response from Harry, but he had none, so she barrelled on. "She would like to meet you. The venue is a pub this time. The Sand Bar. Do you know it?"

"I'll look it up on Google maps."

"It's just off the Chatsworth Road. She wants to see you at four o'clock tomorrow."

"And if I can't make it?"

Harry heard the moment of silence as Caroline contemplated how best to answer that. "I suggest you try, Harry. It's an opportunity to -"

"I know. I'll be there."

"Good. She's calling me back in ten minutes for confirmation."

"Why can't I have her number? Why the secrecy?"

"I suspect she still has to protect her anonymity," and then she hung up.

Harry held up his phone, staring at the screen. "She hung up," he said, more to himself than to Ruth.

"I'm not surprised," Ruth said quietly.

"Why do you say that?"

"You were not exactly … kind to your caller. Who was it, anyway?"

"Caroline."

"Then I'm not surprised she hung up on you. I would have."

"Really?"

"Yes. You were rude. And abrupt. And confrontational."

" _Confrontational_? Me?"

"Yes. You. You had no reason to be speaking to her in that way."

"I'm tired of talking to people today."

"That's not her fault. She's your analyst. You need to let her know you value her contribution."

Harry sat back, eyeing his wine, wondering would it help were he to polish off the whole glassful in one giant gulp. Then he looked across the table to where Ruth sat, watching him closely. "Did I ever treat you like that? Like I didn't value you?"

"Many times. You expected the impossible, and whenever I failed to deliver it, you'd lose your temper. I found it irritating more than upsetting."

Harry breathed out heavily. "I'm sorry, Ruth."

"It's Caroline who requires the apology. First thing Monday morning."

Harry nodded. Lesson learned.

* * *

Calum found himself whistling as he piled Jane Townsend's suitcases into the boot of his car. "You brought enough stuff for a month," he said.

"Those were the instructions I received," she said, clearly sobered by the experience of having to run for her life. "Who knew it would only be forty-eight hours?"

"You must be glad to be going home, all the same," he said absently, more to be making conversation with a woman who must have been almost as old as his own mother. He started the car, and backed out of the carpark behind the B&B.

"I am. I would have gone mad in that B&B, with no-one to talk to other than Milton and June."

"June?"

"Milton's wife. She's as garrulous as Milton is gruff."

Calum smiled. Jane was hardly the quiet type.

They remained silent until they reached the motorway, by which time Jane had mentally composed a list of questions for Calum.

"Is it safe for me to be returning to London?" she asked. Calum heard an undertone of fear in her voice.

"Given your husband and three of his four associates are under lock and key, then I'd say the answer is yes."

"How can you be sure? I thought I'd be safe in my house in Fulham, but I wasn't."

"Surveillance is still watching your house from next door, and Harry is keeping that in place for the foreseeable future. No-one has visited since you've been gone, which is a good sign. Your husband won't be released. He'll he tried for funding terrorism; he's considered dangerous, and so won't be allowed back home. Were this the US, he'd already be on the plane to Guantanamo."

Jane remained quiet for a while, but Calum detected a change in her personality, although perhaps only a temporary change. She seemed quieter, more subdued.

"Why would Harry want to keep me safe?"

Calum turned towards her and grinned. "You'd have to ask him that. Were it me married to you, I'd never have left you in the first place, but maybe that's just me." Calum was sure he heard her utter the words, `cheeky devil,' but he may have been wrong.

"Harry and I were incompatible."

"Harry's incompatible with most people, but I like him anyway."

"Then that makes two of you," Jane said quickly.

"Who's the other one?"

"Alison, of course, or whatever her real name is. His lady."

Calum nodded. Apparently Harry's ex and his current love were acquainted. Happy families. Calum didn't understand it at all. Were he Ruth, he'd not even want to know about Harry's ex, let alone befriend her.

Once they reached the outer suburbs of London, Jane seemed to brighten. "This is more like it," she said lightly. "I can't abide the country."

"Crawley is hardly the country."

"It is to me," and that was her last word on it.

When Calum delivered her to her front door, Jane invited him in for a cup of tea, but he declined, she thanked him for his trouble, and they bid each other farewell. It was unlikely their paths would cross again. As Jane wandered down the long hallway with her bags, she decided that some lifestyle changes were in order. Who knew when next she'd have to flee her home?

* * *

Harry arrived at the The Sand Bar at ten minutes before four o'clock. Not knowing Imogen Cole's drinking habits, he bought two whiskies, and then chose a table in a shadowy corner, far from the scrutiny of those gathering around the bar. Imogen was on time, standing across the table from him as the digital clock behind the bar announced the hour.

"Whiskey?" Harry asked, standing, and pulling out a chair for her.

Imogen sat down, sliding her long frame beneath the table. Harry noticed that this time she was dressed smartly, in what he presumed were expensive jeans, ankle boots with stiletto heels, and a fitted jacket. The clothes showed off her figure, which he suspected was their primary purpose.

"I was expecting you to be … angry," she said, glancing up at him through her eyelashes, something Ruth had often done, when unsure of his reaction to some idea or solution that brain of hers had come up with. When he lifted his eyebrows to her in a question, she continued. "I deliberately lied to you when last we met."

A spy apologising to another spy for having lied? That was a turn-up. "I understand your reasons," he answered, "even though it was risky. It didn't quite work, though."

She nodded. "I wanted you to believe I was communicating with my father, which I am, but certainly not every week, and most definitely not about the operation. I needed you to back off … from us all … from your searches on me, and … the others."

"I'm a man who needs to know why it is people are hiding important information from me."

For the first time, Imogen smiled at him, and for that brief moment, Harry could understand why men fell at her feet. He was not in any way tempted, but as she'd smiled into his eyes, it had been as though he was the only person on earth who mattered, who could provide her with what she needed. She was strong and tough, and yet vulnerable, a delectable combination which drew men to her. "My orders were to put you off the scent, and ordering you to meet me, and telling you a load of bollocks was my way of fulfilling that order."

Harry waited, but she was not about to tell him anything more until he asked. Remembering Ruth's conclusions, be decided he deserved some answers. "How long have you been with the service?"

Again, Imogen smiled, taking a sip of her drink, gently placing the glass on the coaster. "I've been doing this kind of thing on and off since I left university, which was a little over fourteen years ago." Harry felt like Methuselah. He had left university around the time this young woman had been conceived. "I was … approached by Mi6 when an affair I had with a member of cabinet was mentioned in parliament, although neither of us were named. I agreed to be a regular honey trap, if they listened to what I had to say about Dominic, and they agreed to set him up. The … sting which concluded yesterday morning was begun eight years ago. I guess you could say I've been working undercover all that time. Fortunately for me, Dominic had no clue. He knew I had affairs – that was expected – but I chose my affairs carefully. The operation was always going to culminate with Middleton."

Imogen had a habit of spending long moments not speaking … or listening. He supposed it was a habit she had brought to her undercover work. She gave the impression of disinterest, or boredom, and it was from within such gaps in communication that she could gather the most valuable information. Harry himself had sometimes used the technique – to appear to be distracted, while paying very close attention.

"And the others? Yusuf Ali, and Avery Fleming?" Harry asked after a long silence.

"Avery's real name is Tom Deloit. He's Mi6, and has spent most of his working life in the Middle East. He joined this operation a couple of years ago as a …"

".. a double agent," Harry finished the sentence for her. Given what Jane had already told him about Fleming, his conclusion was a given.

"Yes. He worked for Tony Middleton, reporting back to him, at the same time as he was reporting to Mi6. Eventually, he volunteered for a desk job in Thames House to keep his eye on what the JIC .. and your section .. knew."

"And was he successful?"

"All he had to do was keep track of the origin of attempts to access his system on the sixth floor, and there were a few of those. He was there to … confound … to provide a target for your team."

 _Clever strategy,_ thought Harry, and he and his team had fallen for it. "And Yusuf Ali?"

"I recruited him. I met him at a reception I attended with Dominic. Not long after we met Yusuf, he and Dominic had an affair. It only lasted a few months, but I saw Yusuf's potential, and so seven years ago he began working for Tony Middleton."

Harry finished his drink in one gulp, then gently placed his glass on the table. He had to drive home, so one drink was all he'd have. "Would you like another?" he asked Imogen, and she nodded.

On returning to their table with her drink, he noticed Imogen watching him as he approached. He'd seen that look before on the faces of women who wanted to sleep with him – hungry eyes moving from his shoulders to his chest, then over his stomach to his groin, where their eyes lingered. He hoped this wasn't about to be one of those encounters where he'd have to politely extricate himself from this young woman's advances. _Get a grip, Pearce_ , he told himself. _You're old enough to be her father._ But then, so was Tony Middleton. As he reached their table, Imogen lifted her eyes to his, holding his gaze with a directness which he found unsettling. There was no embarrassment in her eyes; only interest, and perhaps a modicum of lust.

"So, Harry," Imogen said, sipping her second drink, while she watched him, her gaze unwavering. "I know you were once married to Jane Middleton, but are you …?" She left the sentence unfinished. The implication was clear.

"I'm very happily partnered," he said calmly, meeting her eyes with a direct gaze equal to her own, "and I don't mess around with other women."

Imogen immediately broke eye contact. Harry imagined that it wasn't very often that this woman was turned down by a man. There would be a rhythm and a sequence to her conquest of a man such as him, and he had broken that rhythm, stepping out of her sights. He was relieved she wasn't about to labour the point. She'd made a move, and he'd blocked it. Having cleared the air of any possibility of intimacy between them, they both relaxed, and found that they quite liked one another. They talked rather easily for another half hour, mostly about people they both knew.

"So, what now?" Harry asked, after they'd exhausted talk of their mutual connections. "Will you continue with Mi6?"

"It's not been determined yet. I'll wait to see what happens to Dominic, and then my plan is to sell our house, and perhaps travel for a few months. I need a change of scenery." Imogen lifted her eyes to Harry. "And you?" she asked.

"I haven't yet decided, but … I sense a change coming."

"Don't stay with the service until you die," she said. "That would be a waste. Take your lady for a long holiday. Somewhere warm would be nice."

Harry nodded. That sounded like good advice.

* * *

By the time Harry drove his car into the driveway beside Ruth's flat it was approaching seven. As he entered the flat, he smelled a fry up – sausages, bacon, mushrooms, onions, chips. Ruth could read his mind. Bless her! Believing his entry to the flat to have been silent, he crept up behind her as she stood at the cooker, turning the bacon.

"Would you put our plates and cutlery on the table," she said, not even lifting her head.

"How did you know it was me?"

"Who else would it be?"

Feeling bold, and more than a little amorous, Harry stepped closer to her, and placed his lips on the skin exposed between her ear and the neck of her jumper, whole his fingers glanced across each hip. Her skin tasted sweet, and he allowed his tongue to slide along her neck to her throat, while he attempted to pull her back until she rested against his body.

Ruth, however, wasn't having any of it. She pulled away from him, turning a little so that she could see him. "While you've been living it up in the pub, I've been cooking our dinner."

"I'll clean up afterwards," he said quickly.

"You certainly will."

Dinner began as a quiet affair, for Ruth, because another day had passed where Harry had planned to be home with her, but had been called away for work, and for Harry because he still had to raise the subject of his future, and he didn't quite know where to begin.

In the end, Ruth asked him about his meeting with Imogen, and so from there, the conversation flowed naturally to his future with the service.

"I think my only option is to leave," Harry said, pushing his empty plate aside, and curving his fingers around the stem of his wine glass.

"I'm assuming you mean the service, and not me." Ruth's voice was quiet, so quiet Harry had to lean closer to hear.

Her statement shocked him. Why had she said that? "Of course I mean the service. Why would you think I'd want to leave you?" Ruth shook her head just a little, her eyes on the table in front of her. Harry couldn't decide whether she was angry or upset. She appeared to be looking for a fight. "What's wrong, Ruth? Is it something I've done … or haven't done?"

Again she shook her head, but she lifted her eyes to his, and all he saw in them was fear .. and pain. "You went to meet a beautiful woman in a bar, and you were gone for hours. What else was I to think?"

"Ruth … at least half of that time was spent travelling there and back. You have no reason for jealousy … or insecurity. It's you I love." The truth was that Harry had not pegged Ruth as the jealous type, and he'd never given her cause for jealousy. "My meeting with Imogen Cole was work."

"But you enjoyed her company."

"Eventually, yes."

"Eventually?"

"She's a bit odd. Her chief role in Six is to sleep with targets. That has to be a strange way to make a living."

"And what did her husband believe she did for a living?"

"I didn't ask."

"Did she … make a move towards you?"

Ahh, so that was the problem. "She asked questions about my private life, which I deflected. I announced that I was happily partnered. Then she backed off. I suspect that propositioning older men is just something she does without thinking about it … a bit like breathing."

As he'd been speaking, Harry noticed Ruth's body relaxing, and a softening around her mouth.

Ruth had little understanding of her own reaction to Harry having met with a beautiful agent from Six. It wasn't as though he had never before been in the company of a woman like Imogen Cole. All Ruth knew was that she'd wanted to hurt him, to goad him, to elicit a reaction from him; she'd experienced the adult equivalent of wanting to pinch his skin between her fingers until he cried out in pain. She had wanted to push him to the edge until he either left her, or begged her forgiveness. Neither outcome was reasonable or even desirable. Perhaps all she'd been searching for was some sign that he could be tempted by another woman, but she hadn't even found that. Harry was true to her, and she had best believe it. She lifted her eyes to his, feeling the pull of a smile either side of her mouth. _You're a bloody lucky woman, Ruth Evershed_ , she thought, _so don't destroy what you have with him._

By the time he'd finished speaking, the smile had reached her eyes. He drank in her beauty, losing himself in those eyes. "Good," she said, "and I'm sorry. I'm not normally the jealous type. It's … a huge thing for me to be joining my life with yours. There are so many risks involved."

"For us both. You're still young, while I'm ..."

"Galloping towards senility?"

With Ruth's sense of humour having returned, Harry breathed out, his breath coming in a long sigh. "Now, about my leaving the service," he began, not knowing how to continue.

"I'm all for it," she said. "I don't want to lose you in some senseless operation."

"I think the idea of operations is that they make sense," he countered.

"Not all the time. Sometimes operations are unnecessarily risky."

"Which is the nature of the work we do."

" _You_ do," Ruth said, watching him closely.

"Which is why I'm resigning."

"Good."

"Is that all?" He couldn't believe she was giving in without her standard list of objections.

"What else is there, Harry? We love one another, we want to be together, and for as long as possible." Her eyes held his. He was waiting for the `but', but it never came. "When are you thinking of retiring?"

"I thought I could submit a letter tomorrow, to be effective early in the new year."

"In time for us to see _Rigoletto_."

"Yes. In time for that."

"Where will we live?"

The details. He hadn't even considered details like where they would live, for how long Ruth would continue at the Home Office, and when, where, and even _if_ they were to be married.

"I hadn't made it that far," he said.

"Never mind. We can sort that out in the next month or two. There's no rush. I might even warm to the idea of us getting married." She looked up at him, her eyes like saucers. "That's if you'd still like that."

"Oh, I think I'd like that very much."

And he would. He wanted it all, and soon.

* * *

 _ **A/N : Final chapter will be published in a few days.**_


	20. Chapter 20

_**A/N:** **This is the final chapter – a longish epilogue. Thanks you to all who have been reading, and especially to the reviewers.**_

* * *

Sunday 15th December 2013:

Ruth felt more nervous than usual as Jane wandered through her flat, admiring her taste in soft furnishings. "I could have used your help when decorating my house," Jane gushed. "You have a flair for putting together a series of traditionally incompatible styles."

To Ruth, that sounded a lot like, `your flat reminds me of a car boot sale.' "This flat is perfect for just one person," Ruth explained. "When Harry is here, the walls can seem to close in on us."

"Harry can have that effect on most places, even the most spacious." Jane glanced at Ruth, and seeing the frown, she added, "but I'm sure he's not always that … overwhelming." And when Ruth ignored her attempt to save the conversation, Jane added, "I trust you've sent him out for the afternoon."

Ruth nodded, and then unlocked the sliding door between the eating area and the small back garden, stepping down the three steps to the paved courtyard. To give her and Jane some privacy for a few hours, Harry had arranged to meet Malcolm Wynn-Jones for a drink, but Jane didn't need to know that, and in all likelihood would not listen were Ruth to tell her. "He's out," she said at last, "for the afternoon."

Two weeks earlier, on a Saturday afternoon when Harry was busy organising an operation about to take place in Essex, Ruth had visited Jane's townhouse to admire her decorating, and to at last share with Harry's ex-wife her real name. "I love your real name," Jane had said, her voice warm with approval. "It suits you. I hope you're not planning to change it."

Jane's reference to the possibility of Ruth becoming Ruth Pearce was hardly subtle, subtlety not being a part of Jane's skill set. The truth was that Ruth and Harry had agreed to marry some time in the future, one of Ruth's conditions being that she keep her own name. Further details – like when, where, and the number of guests, had not yet been discussed.

"Are you planning to keep this flat," Jane rattled on, stepping back inside where it was warm, "after you move in with Harry? I'm presuming you'll be living together some time in the future."

As much as she enjoyed Jane's company, Ruth was still not accustomed to her direct questioning. Ruth preferred to skirt around the truth, to give others a minimum of information, leaving them free to work it out on their own. She didn't want to have to state openly that hers and Harry's plans were still on the vague side. With William Towers having to remain in the Home Office for a further six months, Harry's retirement had been postponed for a similar time, something which had already become a thorn in Ruth's side. She and Harry had already had a number of heated discussions on the subject.

They settled in the living room, sitting in winged chairs positioned either side of the gas fire, which Ruth had cranked up to its highest setting. Ruth had bought two varieties of muffins – blueberry, and chocolate-chip, (the latter being Harry's favourite) – and she served them with a pot of English Breakfast tea.

It was not in Ruth's nature to ask questions of others, apart from Harry, of course. She preferred to leave people free to slowly open up of their own accord, and Jane was no exception. So Ruth waited patiently, knowing that Jane would find the silence unbearable.

And she did.

"I'm thinking of travelling," Jane said at last, "although not immediately. My solicitor informs me I need to be in London for Tony's preliminary hearing, just to see which way the wind will blow. After that, I'll be off."

"Do you have a destination in mind?"

"I thought I might begin in France, and then head east. I haven't made firm plans. I also quite like the idea of a Mediterranean cruise."

"You sound like you're looking for Husband Number Four."

"Dear God, no. I'm sworn off men."

"Forever?"

"And beyond."

Ruth smiled, watching the flickering of the gas behind the coils of the fire, mesmerising her, as it always did. Ruth was not a betting woman, but she was sure that Jane would be returning from her travels with a new man. She would not remain single for long. She was a woman who craved company … and admiration. "Harry tells me Catherine is due home in a week."

"She flies in on Saturday. I can't wait."

"And your son?"

"I'm hoping he'll be home for Christmas. He asked me to visit him last Christmas, but I politely declined, stating the obvious. Who wants to be spending any part of December in Edinburgh? With Lucy out of the picture, I'm hoping he comes home for good."

"Harry said something similar," Ruth said quietly.

"Good," Jane replied. "That's good. They were such mates when Graham was small. It's rather sad that ..."

And Jane ran out of words, although Ruth had a fair idea what she meant. Harry almost never spoke of his son, so Ruth was looking forward to meeting him.

Jane had begun making noises about it being time she headed home, when she mentioned a subject neither had considered polite to bring up between them. "I'm assuming that you and Harry are planning to marry some time." Ruth lifted her eyes to Jane, unable to form a sensible answer. The words, `that is none of your business,' remained unspoken, restlessly rolling around inside her mouth. "I know it's not my business were you to .. or not, but I need to say that were Harry to remarry, I could think of no-one better than you to be … taking him on." Jane moved her eyes to the fire. "He's a man who needs someone in his life, someone who can overlook his foibles, and love him anyway, although … I suppose that's what we all need … when all is said and done."

Ruth had always believed that she was the one with `foibles', but Harry certainly had his fair share of them also, and together they planned to muddle along as best they could.

"Although," Jane continued soberly, "Tony's … foibles were a tad hard to love. Who could possibly love a man who arranged the murders of innocent people during the day, only to hobnob with members of the royal family in the evening?"

"You've met the queen?"

Jane wrinkled her nose as though she'd detected the smell of rotting fish. "Only the once. I could easily have been overwhelmed by her, but I decided to think of the whole family as a bunch of German immigrants who'd landed on their feet. After all, that's all they are."

Ruth had no answer to that.

* * *

When Harry's tenure with Mi5 was extended to July, Ruth expressed her disgust directly to Towers, who by this time had surmised that since Harry and Ruth spent each weekend together, they had to be more than friends.

"It's only an extra two months," Towers had said distractedly, like Ruth was discussing bus time tables. "After that, you can swan off and do whatever you wish. I'm assuming you'll wish to retain this position." Ruth nodded. "Then spend the next few months transferring all your files so that you can work from home, or anywhere in the world." Ruth was flabbergasted. The dream job could be performed from a villa in Italy? Perfect. "You'll need to train an understudy," Towers continued.

"I have just the person in mind," she replied. "She's Harry's current analyst."

"Harry won't like that," Towers mused.

"Leave Harry to me."

So in March, Ruth began training Caroline Brayshaw to take her place in the Home Office. Being a job with regular hours, and a considerable increase in salary, Caroline accepted the position eagerly, although Harry was not impressed.

"What will I do now?" he said, his pout providing a spot for birds of prey to settle on his lower lip.

"Raj can fill in. He has a natural flair for analysis."

Harry grunted, not terribly happy. He would still be one agent short.

* * *

Four weeks before Ruth's forty-fourth birthday, Harry took part in an operation just outside Slough. With Dimitri doing a brief stint with Six, and Calum on a month long operation in Leeds, someone senior was needed to work with the four junior agents, and a female agent on loan from Six, so Harry volunteered, and Ruth reacted.

"I thought we agreed that you would never again take part in any kind of operation," she'd scolded, when he told her that he was to be away for anything up to a week.

He felt helpless, knowing that Ruth would worry about him the whole time, and he had no way of contacting her while undercover. He had confidence in his own abilities, assuring her that he'd soon be back with her, all in one piece.

Famous last words.

The operation had been successful, and on his last night in Slough, Harry visited a pub in a back street, where he was to meet an agent from Six, who was stationed nearby. Harry's first mistake was to visit the pub alone. His second mistake was to wait an extra fifteen minutes for the agent from Six, who hadn't arrived at the agreed time. Harry was recognised by a man he'd brought down years before. Stan Croser watched Harry for around ten minutes, barely believing his luck. He and two of his drinking buddies gathered around Harry, then drew him outside into the lane, where the three of them beat him until he was unconscious. They also stole his wallet and his phone. Then the three of them quickly left.

The manager of the pub called an ambulance, and Harry spent three days in hospital, to monitor the possibility of serious head injuries. When he returned home on the fourth day after his beating, his first call was to Ruth.

"I can't tell you how angry I am," she said coldly and calmly. "I don't wish to see you right now. I don't even know whether I want to be with you."

Ruth's words chilled him. He had thought Ruth and him to be stronger than that. Harry knew he had taken a risk that no sixty-year-old should take, and she had every right to be angry, but at the time he was planning the operation, he hadn't the luxury of choice. He also knew that giving Ruth space in which to think everything through would work better than pleading with her.

For the next three weeks he buried himself in his work, arriving on the Grid early, and leaving late. He worked every weekend, causing members of his team to raise their eyebrows. Something was definitely wrong with their boss, and it seemed his love life – or lack of it – was to blame. Harry was surly and abrupt with everyone, but it was Caroline who was brave enough to raise the subject of his mood. "If you have a problem at home," she said quietly, while she waited for him to sign some reports, "then bring it up with the person or persons concerned, but leave it at home. It doesn't belong here."

She was right, of course, so, four weeks after Harry left for the operation in Slough, and two days before her birthday, he rang Ruth, asking her could he visit her at home. It was a Sunday afternoon, and he'd missed her terribly. He was almost certain she'd missed him. How was it possible for what they'd had, the plans they'd made, to so easily have dissolved into nothing at all?

"Very well," she said gently. "I guess we need to talk."

He arrived at her door with a large parcel for her, and a card, inside which he'd written everything that was in his heart. He'd written his love for her, words which caught in his throat whenever he tried to speak them aloud. She stood aside as he entered the tiny entrance hall of her flat, then she lifted her face to receive his kiss; he saw that as a good sign.

In the kitchen, she opened the gift to find a hand-made patchwork quilt for her bed. Bordered in black silk, it was bold and brightly coloured in greens, reds, yellows, gold, purple and pink. Ruth was speechless, running her palms over the fabric. When she looked up into his eyes, her own eyes shone with unshed tears.

"You know me so well, Harry," she said. "It's beautiful. It must have cost the earth."

"Not the earth, no, but close." He grabbed the card from where Ruth had left it on the table. "You need to read this," he added, "while I put the quilt on your bed."

" _Our_ bed," she said quietly, lifting her eyes to his, and it was with those two words that he knew she had thought about it, and had still decided that despite everything, being with him was still what she wanted.

When he returned to the kitchen, Ruth was sitting in a chair, the card opened in front of her, her forehead resting in her hands while she quietly wept. Harry sat in the chair beside her, and very slowly slid an arm around her shoulders, carefully pulling her against him, where she let her head drop against his shoulder, relaxing her body against his.

"I'm so sorry," she said, after some time, "for what I said to you. I knew you'd been injured. I was _so_ angry with you, but really, I was just … frightened."

"I know," he said.

"And what you wrote in my card, do you mean it?"

"Every word, Ruth. I mean every word." He turned his body a little, to gain eye contact with her, while she reached out and rested one hand on his thigh. Her touch was electric, and he felt his body beginning to respond.

"Would you like to stay the night?" Ruth asked. "I know that -"

"Yes," he said, and that is when he leaned down to kiss her, properly this time.

Somehow, they made it to the bedroom, where he allowed Ruth to remove his clothes, one garment at a time. It was his chest, back and sides which had taken the brunt of the beating three weeks earlier, and his skin still bore the marks of his injuries – dark and angry bruises which had faded to the colour of mustard, some still with plum-coloured centres. Ruth kissed every one of them, even the large fading bruise on one buttock.

"Do they still hurt?" she asked.

"Not really," he replied. He had been lucky that no bones had been broken, although the cut under his left eye had required four stitches.

They made love slowly and carefully, silently acknowledging that they could never again take the other for granted.

"I have something more to tell you," Harry said afterwards, and seeing the fear in Ruth's eyes, he quickly reassured her. "It's a good something." When she nodded for him to continue, he drew her closer to his side, so that he could tell her his immediate plans. "On Friday morning I submitted my resignation, effective immediately." Ruth gasped, pulling away a little to check he was serious. "And there's more. Carl Steiner, from Six, has offered me his cottage in the south of France for a month, beginning in a fortnight. I told him we'd take it."

"But … my job."

"You can come with me on holiday, and work from France, or you can remain in London on your own."

"That's no choice at all."

"I know." Harry grinned at her. "I spoke to Towers about Caroline beginning at the Home Office the week after next. You can still keep in touch electronically."

Harry watched while Ruth stared ahead of her, sifting through the information he'd given her. "All right," she said at last, "I can't have you spending a month alone in rural France. Anything could happen."

* * *

So, they spent their month in France, and then returned to England, having decided to sell Harry's London house, and purchase a rural retreat in their own country. In September they moved their possessions into a four-bedroom converted barn near Bath, just off the road to Trowbridge. For the foreseeable future this was to be their home.

Marriage was still on their list of things-to-do, but Ruth didn't want to be rushing into it. When 2014 turned into 2015, Harry decided that he needed more than a `soon' answer from Ruth.

"What is it about marriage which scares you, Ruth?" he asked in the early hours of January 1st, 2015. They had joined their neighbours for a drink, and that had turned into several drinks, although neither were under the weather. When Ruth took a long time to answer, Harry glanced at her lying beside him, believing she'd fallen asleep. She was staring at the ceiling, her expression one of anxiety. "What is it really?" he prompted.

"It's … everything. Marriage frightens me. It's so final. My mother's marriage to my stepfather was .. quite volatile, and they never seemed happy to me. The parents of almost all my friends at school were either divorced, or about to be."

"Have you enjoyed living with me this past few months?" he asked, desperate for a way to settle her anxiety.

"Very much. I've enjoyed every moment, but Harry … things happen when people get married. They get lazy, believing that because they've tied the knot, everything will work out without them having to do anything themselves."

"I know that a marriage requires constant maintenance, Ruth. I'm not an optimist by nature." When he heard Ruth's quiet laugh, he looked at her sharply. "What I'm saying is that I know now what to look for … the warning signs which have to be taken seriously. I mean to stay with you for the rest of my life. I think we should be married."

When Ruth didn't answer right away, he thought he had said something to annoy her, or to give her yet another excuse to put off their marriage. When he heard her quietly say, "All right," he couldn't believe it. He turned towards her, and kissed her. When she would her arms around his neck, and pushed her body against him, he knew she meant it.

* * *

They were married on a sunny Saturday afternoon the following July. The ceremony took place in the garden behind their house, with views over the hills to the south. Harry's best man was his son, Graham, while Catherine was Ruth's bridesmaid. Twenty guests attended their wedding ceremony, followed by a light meal in the spacious back room of their house, with large windows overlooking the back garden. Ruth wore a pale blue dress which folded around her body like a lover's arms, while Harry wore the widest smile anyone had ever seen.

Once their guests left, they spent their wedding night at home. Next day they headed to Paris, where they spent their week-long honeymoon. Then they returned home, where they both longed to be.

* * *

With one of her husbands dead, while another was in gaol, Jane Townsend considered it wise to be nowhere near her first husband when he married for the second time. She was clearly the kiss of death where husbands were concerned – apart from Harry, thus her decision to be well away from him and Ruth on their wedding day. She had rented a tiny cottage in a small fishing village on the Corfu coast. The downside was that it seemed half of Britain had chosen that same destination for their holidays. She'd wanted to lose herself somewhere no-one knew her, maybe have a passionate affair with a local fisherman, and yet all around her, she heard English spoken in English accents.

Each evening she headed to a bar by the beach, and there she sat on a stool on the wide verandah overlooking a very blue ocean, while she sipped a gin and tonic, her first one of two for the day. She had been on Corfu for just over a week, and each evening at the same time, a rather interesting looking man with a full head of hair (desirable), greying at the temples (attractive), dressed casually, but smartly (absolutely essential), sat at the table near Jane. On the fifth evening – Saturday night, the day of Harry's and Ruth's nuptials – the man stood, smiled, and politely introduced himself.

"My name is Myles," he said, reaching out to her with his hand, which of course, she shook. She could hardly be rude to him, could she? Seeing him at closer range, he was clearly younger than her, but she wasn't about to date him, or anything. He was just a nice man, who was holidaying alone, and all she had in mind was some pleasant conversation, a drink or two, and then they'd part company, and return to their separate lives.

"Jane," she said, with an equally welcoming smile. "Jane Townsend. It's lovely to meet you."

"Myles Coulthard," he replied.

Jane's holiday was looking up. A nice bar, a drink, and an attractive man. She'd be leaving for home in less than a week, so what could possibly happen in that time?

"I couldn't help but notice you here alone each evening," Myles rattled on, his Oxford accent like aural honey.

Just for a few days, that was all. It would be a dalliance, and nothing more. After all, she had two adult children – and one husband in gaol, and another dead, while the third was being married that very day. "Would you like to sit with me?" she said, barely knowing where that idea came from.

She would have some fun with this man, and that would be that. Nothing more. She smiled across the table into Myles' eyes.

 _Fin_


End file.
